Slivers and Slices
by Gumdrop Boo
Summary: Glimpses into the lives of the Vikings we know - who we think we know, yet might be surprised with - to share those joyful, melancholy, and humorous moments that help make up a lifetime. :Post Seasons Series:
1. A Proposal

**Introductory A/N:**  
_Welcome!_

_In Celebration of **10** Days 'till the DVD hit shelves *fist pump*, I bring to thee my newest story!_

_Prerequisite to Newcomers: I suggest to read my Seasonal Series starting at Winter [links in my profile] as subjects may be brought up referring to those events in these chapters. Don't want you out of the loop :)_

_Premise: A compilation focused on life moments of the next decade after 'Seasons' with an emphasis on scene and characterization. Chapters for the most will be rated K - T and if any M appears then I will dully note it at the beginning. Keep in mind there might be minor story arcs but not all if any may be resolved due to the nature of storytelling._

_So please enjoy the Slivers and Slices of Viking life!_

* * *

It wasn't a particular day by any means. Ruffnut had let Fishlegs take her somewhere. He did that—took her out. Especially after she realized she had liked him the way he had liked her. Usually these outings would be an educational experience.

_This-and-that about the flora and fauna_.

_So-and-such regarding why something was or came to be_.

Sometimes it was fascinating, other times he bored her to death with the facts.

This unassuming, blustery day, he was fidgety and unfocused—quite out of character unless she had previously lifted her tunic up to her chest in a random act of minor exhibitionism.

He'd always get fidgety and unfocused when she did that and he acted all aghast but she could tell he really _liked_ it.

His eyes gave it away.

She inwardly chuckled.

No, as if she would try that now—the wind was chilly and strong and still he was unfocused—fidgety, the way he played with his fingers absently, but she didn't question it.

Everyone had weird days.

Like one day recently, Ruffnut woke up feeling really happy, a weird day for she usually woke up grumpy and then spent her time with Fishlegs, clinging onto him in a loving manner. It freaked him out and she got half of the pleasure seeing him freak out about it and noted she should do it more often because it was really damn funny.

Also that was the day she fell in love with concept of cuddling, no matter how embarrassingly girly it was. Cuddling was magnificent, and cuddling with Fishlegs was ten times better than any other man because he was so broad and squishy. He was an all- purpose boyfriend—punching bag and body pillow in one.

"So-o, have you heard from Tuffnut?" He finally asked.

They were walking along the shore and Ruff had a long stick of driftwood she was poking into the pebbled beach, splitting the small rocks with a drawn path in it's wake.

_Tuffnut_. It wasn't quite the same without him around. Her brother been away nearly a month. The water thrashed against the beach sluggishly, bringing in pieces of semi ice. The great freeze was arriving fast.

"Are you kidding? He can't even spell his own name much less write a letter and somehow find a way to send it here."

"You know, Slugwing has been working on a mailing system by way of Terrible Terrors. You see, they really have a remarkable sense of smell so if you have something of your receiver's you can have the Terror remember the scent and it will—" Fishlegs began to ramble with an invigorated interest but Ruff was already mentally checking out, thinking there were better things they could have been doing—like kissing. Yeah, now that was an activity worth participating in, it'd get them warmed up at least.

But that mouth of his just kept moving and moving and saying words about mail she took no interest in.

"—then when the arrive you give them a fish and that's how they are trained to do the job—"

"Shut up Fish," Ruffnut blurted.

"Job—what? Why?" he seemed a little bruised at her annoyed tone.

"Why'd you bring me out here? Is there something cool to look at? Is there a dragon fight or what?

"No I just wanted to—"

"No dragon fights? Oh come on, shouldn't you know by now that it's not worth my interest if it doesn't involve action?"

"All the dragons are gone, you know that."

She should have remembered by the cold temperature, but was getting riled at the stagnant nature of their date—was this really a date? Was every time they went together somewhere with no one else considered a date?

"Ugh, okay but like are you going to keep talking about _mail_?"

"I didn't mean to upset you," he looked to the ground. They saw a large foaming pool of cold sea water and Fish immediately picked her up and carried her over it before she could protest. He set her down once on the other side and she stared at him with a scowl despite the nice warmth the closeness had provided.

Now she just felt like being difficult as a payback for him going into a ramble about mail and his most recent action.

"You know I'm not delicate, so stop treating me like some pathetic flower."

"But you _are_ like a flower!" Fish insisted which caused Ruff to tighten her fists in offense. She knew it was futile to punch him—it wouldn't hurt him but it would make her feel better at trying. He winced in anticipation but didn't stop talking, "You're beautiful and flowers are beautiful and sometimes they have thorns and you're the kind that has thorns but that doesn't make want to pick someone else."

Her fists dissipated immediately at his sincere expression and his quite flattering metaphor. Hs words were _pretty_ even, enough to cause a blush to rise in her cheeks.

"What? What do you mean? What do you want?" She threw her stick to the ground irately then glared at him, noting his nose and cheeks had become rosy from the wind. Hers probably were too.

"You. We should be married—but will you marry me?" WILL YOU MARRY ME?" he sounded more excited as he said the words repeatedly, desperate even. It was as though those previous words had been replaced by the ones spilling out of his mouth he had no volume or stopping control over.

"Will you marry—"

"Yes."

She might have just answered so he would shut up.

"Me—really?"

"Yes." She repeated. Why not? She pretty much loved him, big doofy smile, unreasonable phobias and all. He amused her—that was what mattered. She didn't want some constant boring ol' husband. She could live with him occasionally treating her like a lady, though she preferred to take challenges head on—crossing sea puddles included.

"Oh neat!"

_Oh neat?_ She shook her head realizing she might just have the dweebiest husband in all of Berk as a consequence.

But one glance at the joy in his face was worth it.

She never usually took pleasure in other's happiness as before she had always been a selfish creature, only concerned with herself and her feelings and how to hide them.

He seemed more excited than she, but it perhaps was because the weight of it hadn't hit her yet.

_Marry Fishlegs, become Mrs. Fishlegs, be a wife, run a house, cook, family—children?_

Oh. _That_ was why she wasn't as excited.

He was bold enough to step forward and try to kiss her but she inched away.

"Waaaaait."

"What's the matter?"

Instead of voicing her concern, she hid it with a false one.

"Your parents agreed to this proposal?"

_Proposal—_a few seconds ago it hadbeen awkward and weird but in the realm of normal considering who had done the proposing. And she wasn't sure if this would be a better proposal than him making an offhand remark about being married as they played _Dens & Dwarves._

It wasn't anything as grand or romantic as being proposed to in the rain—Astrid had told her of how Hiccup came around and if Ruff still had her silly crush on the newly appointed Chief she would have been green with envy.

"My parents are thrilled a girl even likes me in that way, especially one with a distinguished family."

_Distinguished_ was putting it nicely. True, the Thorstons were a well off family plus Ruff was bred from a long line of warriors—her father had even been one of Stoick's four commanders. Her mother was the most skilled seamstress in the village. Still her family was also very famous for short tempers excluding her mother whose temper rose like hot water—slowly, to a boil.

She had to think about it now that it was settled on her mind.

_Missus_ _Ingerman_.

She popped an unwarranted giggle. She liked the sound. Still it was _marriage_—that final thing to a romance. Their 'romance' had lasted a month, though she figured his interest was much longer developed.

"Well—we can't be married anytime soon. Winter will come any day now and Frigg knows you can't have a wedding until there's enough honey for mead."

"Then we'll wait but I just had to know."

Ruff knew she should probably turn around and head home. Her mother would want to know immediately, being the only one who could contract her daughter to the Ingermans. Ruffnut's father was long dead, Tuff was still away—otherwise he'd have done it but she severely doubted he'd be good at it. He'd probably want too high of a price—a thousand pounds of ale bread plus coin. Either that, or he'd do opposite to annoy her—_he'd marry me off for cheap_, she thought bitterly.

She crossed her arms over her chest with contemplation. Fishlegs must have taken her gesture as her being cold and she didn't expect two large arms to suddenly engulf her from behind—lightly squishing her closer into an even warmer embrace. She glanced up and smiled—it was a delightful cuddle. He knew she'd like it.

"You know, I thought you would be more excited," he noted, "Most girls lose their head over something like this."

She rolled her eyes and removed herself, "I'm not _most girls_, and I'm excited to be with you—yes."

He grinned with satisfaction.

Yet, she couldn't help but to blurt, "Excited to have your children—no."

"What? Why? Do you hate children?"

Moron, why couldn't he reason it out? He was good at reasoning. If he was so smart she wouldn't have to tell him—he could take a look at her narrow body and conclude children would do her more harm than good.

She had told him about the Spring Raid, about how what she had seen there that had caused a shift in her being from bloodlust to peace—though she did still enjoy a good sparring or challenge, either physical or with words. But that was _one_ thing she had never told him. That fear, that _worry_ embedded in her as soon as she had been old enough to have such thoughts. This looked to be the best opportunity to bring it up.

But she didn't even know how to say it! That she was '_afraid_', out lout and to Fishlegs of all people. After all, she was most comfortable with telling him or Astrid things but not this—it would directly affect him and their future. She just was uncomfortable saying aloud her one ultimate worry.

She felt the heat rise to her face, "I—I don't _hate_ them."

His brows rose with mild surprise, urging her to continue. She let out a sigh, and looked toward the freezing waters, it was easier to say thinking no one was there with her.

"I fear that I will not live through childbirth."

It was true she didn't like _other_ people's children. Her own brood she could probably tolerate and she _did_ want one of her own someday, just didn't want to go through the usual process of obtaining it. She would want the chance to see her children grow up.

It wasn't like he could promise that she'd live through it or promise she would never get pregnant. There was nothing he could say to make her feel better about it either. It would always just be there—that inherent risk—because the whole purpose of getting married in society was to add to the next generation.

So now what? Would he still want to marry her? She _wanted _to marry him—she wanted a good punching-bag-body-pillow-gaming-husband. There wasn't anything much better in her mind than a husband like that. And only Fishlegs fit the bill the last she checked.

She pulled on one of her braids with a frown, also noting she'd have to undo them soon as the Winter was closing in and she needed the extra warmth her bushels of blonde hair could give.

"You're not a person to give up so easily," she heard him say, "and I believe with everything I have you'd be able to successfully handle any sort of challenge thrown at you."

She squinted trying to see if a spec in the distance was a boat or an iceberg or a whale while his words filled her head. She stopped paying mind to the spec it as they sunk in. She had always liked challenges but never applied the term toward her fear. It was true that a fear was a challenge just like everything else and to overcome it—to win out—was the best feeling.

What was the difference between charging in head first to a battle and having a child? Ruff had loved the thrill of risk back then when she had done just that, and she'd do it again if one day Berk found itself being attacked by enemies.

It was a fight, it was a challenge with high stakes and as she wrapped her personal thoughts about challenges around her fear of childbirth—it actually didn't seem as frightening.

She turned on her heel and clasped her arms to Fishlegs's shoulders, burying her face snug into his wooly outer covering. His beard brushed her brow in a tickle. His words _had_ made her feel better, and she'd think twice before claiming that he couldn't because now warm and comfortable and content with herself she knew he would always try his best.

And that was the best quality in a husband a woman could ever ask for.

* * *

_How to Train Your Dragon Characters, Places, and Names are © Cressida Cowell/Dreamworks_


	2. The Null Lull

**AN:**

_Hi. :3_

_

* * *

_Hiccup found a lull in his day and was thankful for it. He took that window of time to go back to his home and warm up from the increasingly cold weather. Toothless was napping and Hiccup was instantly jealous of how comfortable the Night Fury seemed. He told the dragon so by making a face, and the Night Fury ignored it even though he had seen it through the crack of eyelid.

Astrid was weaving, so super concentrated that she didn't even glance up when her husband entered.

He stepped over to the hearth and held his hands out over the heated flames.

There was a snapping sound and then a curse thrown into the air from Astrid's lips.

"What's wrong?"

"My loom shuffle snapped. This poor dragon isn't going to have a warm thing to sleep on if I don't get this thing done," she motioned to her rug she had been working on for what seemed months. She was frustrated, but that wasn't new. The shuffle must have been the thing she kept the yarn wrapped around as when he observed her now, she had strings and strings of it collapsed around her feet.

"Shouldn't you be taking it easy anyway?"

Astrid only frowned, "I will go mad if I don't busy myself with tasks; rest is for those who need it and I am not at the point I need it yet."

She sounded very convincing but he'd have liked her to sit down and relax. She was a ball of mood swings and anxiety and growing worse with it each passing day.

"I need a new shuffle. Go buy a new one for me if you don't want me up and about." She pointed at the door he had nearly just walked through. He moved away from the fire, "and get a bone-made one, those will last longer from what I hear."

She must have heard Ruffnut's sale pitch.

Hiccup sighed, his window of relaxation was now taken from him but he didn't mind doing an errand for his wife. He tugged on an extra layer and emerged back into the cold.

Berk had a good number of villagers out and about that afternoon. Market days were the reason. Hiccup knew just where to get a bone loom shuffle. Fishlegs had started the craft of bone-carving. Hiccup considered Fishlegs a good friend, they both found a common interest in dragons.

He had to go to Fishlegs's house to buy it since Fishlegs was still saving up to buy stall space at market. He knocked on the door and waited while the chill nipped at his ends.

"Why, to what do we owe this honor?" the Master Ingerman answered the door with flour clearly all over him only to see the Chieftain of all people.

Hiccup explained what he needed and he was gladly let in where it was immediately warmer. The Missus was twining candle wicks in the main room. The Ingerman lodge was kind of messy, all manners of things strewn about and Hiccup wondered how any of them ever found what they were looking for. He announced himself before stepping down into the basement just in case he should accidentally startle his burly friend.

"Oh hey Hiccup," Fishlegs nodded and then immediately went back to whatever he was working on. He had a file and was rounding or hollowing a miniscule bone tube.

"Hey, whatcha making?"

"Oh!" Fishlegs exclaimed and pulled the tube away, "You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"I'm getting married! I asked Ruff to marry me!"

Hiccup shouldn't have seemed so surprised, "When did you do that?"

Fishlegs thought and then seemed to count backwards on his fingers, "Last Monandæg."

It had been at least a week, why hadn't Astrid told him? He was sure Ruffnut would have told Astrid at least. Well, Astrid was kind of grumpy all hours of the day and didn't converse as much but at least he should have heard it from gossips around the village. He was chief! He was supposed to know these kinds of things, especially if it involved one of his good friends. He felt bad for not knowing.

"So I'm making her a ring out of bone!"

"That's uh...ah so romantic of you Fish," Hiccup replied. Because the bones of dead things used as a symbol for everlasting partnership _really_ fired up a woman's wiles.

Well, maybe in this case it would, it was _Ruffnut_. She might even appreciate a bone-made wedding band.

"Well congratulations man," He backed out of the basement, his mind now occupied with thoughts of bones and still concerned on why in the world he hadn't heard about the engagement by then. A week! He should ask Astrid if she had known. If she didn't, she'd sure want to hear about it.

Ruffnut and Fishlegs were the oddest of couples, they never had seemed to match: loud and quiet, thin and thick, fearless and phobic, brash and humble, bold and timid, muscle and brains.

Hiccup chuckled, well the world did contain _weirder _things.

He didn't know how long his lull in the day would last so tried to hurry home to be with his dragon and wife. He was rushing on his way while his mind was still rounding with village concerns as well as social concerns it was no surprise he did not pay attention to where he was going.

"Gah!" he was suddenly falling and tumbled over a body, soft furs were covering him. He struggled upward, and grabbed the animal fur off of him. Next to him was the accidental victim of collision.

"Oh! Brynna I'm so sorry!" he apologized quickly at seeing the lass sitting on the ground with her hair flipped into her face. She was the only married woman in the village who still left her hair down at times, probably because it just wasn't her custom to wear it up for always after nuptials.

He gathered up the furs while she straightened herself out and stood.

She was his cousin's wife, had formerly been his own betrothed which that fact still caused him to feel a bit awkward around her. Those summer days they had happened to be in one another's company were so awkward he could still remember the pain of of it.

"I suppose you didn't damage me too much," she looked herself over and picked her basket off the ground that she had been using to carry the furs. He placed them in the basket for her. He took notice that she was shivering.

"Did you have no heavier covering than that cloak?" Hiccup asked with concern, immediately unclasping his thick fur one. History or not, there was no reason for a lovely young woman to freeze to death before the first snow. He swung it over her shoulders in hopes it would warm her up. He knew that if Astrid had seen him do that, she wouldn't speak to him for a few days. His wife had made it clear to him she did not did not take kindly toward the Jorgensons after the events of mid-autumn, though promised she would remain cordial enough if forced to be in their presence.

Brynna gave a light, humored laugh to his question, "That is why I have these, I was going to sew some warmer garments. Nothing in my wardrobe is suited for the harsh winters I hear about."

_Harsh_ maybe wasn't a harsh enough word to describe northern winters. He ended up escorting her back to her home that she shared with Snotlout.

"Where is Snotlout?" Hiccup wondered. If Hiccup had a lull in his day, why didn't Snotlout?

"He is selling the last of his catch at the docks."

Last catch indeed, the bay was a day or so from freezing solid, but the visiting Danes insisted they would be able to navigate through the ice hunks.

They entered the home and it was snug and cheery. Brynna had a skill for making a new place feel like home.

Berk hadn't always been her home, it had to be now that she was the secure means to an alliance with the Southern Islands.

"Are you happy here, Brynna?"

He was feeling that awkwardness seep into their presence again.

He had asked her before, back when she was his betrothed and her reply had caused him to take the step in the direction toward what was right for everyone.

_"Are you happy here Brynna?"_

_The lass turned to him with an unnamable expression._

_He was escorting her back to where she stayed until they were married, the elder's home. It was a warm and dark night._

_It had been three months since they had returned from the Southern Islands, three months he had been betrothed to this sixteen-year-old girl—one he knew next to nothing about, three months he had not seen hide nor hair of Astrid as she had wanted nothing to do with him—except he finally saw her that night and it reminded him how painstakingly much he missed her. He wasn't happy. He wouldn't have asked Brynna before that night because before that night he had never seen her smile. That night she had smiled._

_"It doesn't matter if I am happy," Brynna replied, even still young, demonstrating that she was diplomatically mature, "The marriage is what matters, but yet it hasn't happened. You don't speak to me, you don't want to be near me, and you are always at the forge. I know you love that other girl but consider that you're not the only one who has had to make sacrifices."_

_Hiccup was dumbfounded; it was more than she had ever said to him before._

_"So you're __**not**__ happy?"_

_"Do I __**look**__ Happy?"_

_She probably thought he was a doofus for double-checking. Though, He studied her frown, her look of hopelessness and knew the answer before he even had to look. Her expression was the opposite of what it had been nearly an hour before as he saw her dancing with Snotlout. _

_"If I __**didn't**__ marry you, would you be happy?"_

_She balked, "What? What do you mean by that?"_

_He leaned back on a wooden post, "I saw you with Snotlout tonight—I've never seen you so happy."_

_She might have blushed but it was too dark to see._

_"I'm sorry, it was inappropriate of me to accept his invitation in your absence."_

_While they danced, Hiccup had been called away and told by Stoick he was to ascend to the position of Chieftain after his marriage. He had taken a lot in that night, and he let out with a sigh._

_"Brynna, if it made you happy you shouldn't apologize for it," Hiccup had started digging into the dirt with the toe of his one boot._

_"I do admire you, Hiccup. You have a good heart, and you care about people and creatures, not just your own but all of them—I just..."_

_"What?"_

_"I wish not to be married to a man that will never love me."_

_There was nothing he could say to convince her otherwise—it would be a lie for it was true, Hiccup could never love her. He had accepted that and there was no secret in the way he looked at Astrid with yearning and hopeless gazes. _

_"Then you don't have to," Hiccup replied with a sudden determination._

_"But the alliance won't be formal, the contract would be—"_

_"Intact," Hiccup cut her off with assuredness. He had been mulling in his head the thought of the negotiation terms he had made with Brynna's father. There was a chance, non-explicit phrase that might have freed both of them._

_"Brynna if you wanted to, you could marry Snotlout—he's my cousin and your father never said you had to be married to _**me, **he said_ you had to be married to one of the Viking elite."_

_Brynna was silent and then she lit up in no way he had ever seen her. She must have realized it was true, and there was no denying she was crazy for his cousin in that smile._

_Just to be sure Hiccup asked, "Hypothetically, if you could marry any man on Earth, who __**would **__you choose?"_

_"__**Him**__," she answered, and she didn't need to specify who._

_"Then we'll do this," he smiled, "I will talk to Snotlout tomorrow about it, and I don't think he'll have any objections."_

_"He shouldn't," she said most assuredly, hiding another grin._

_Hiccup had to wonder just how much time they were spending together and might have felt put-off if he wasn't occupied with his own troubles of love._

_"Thank you," she whispered and then gave him a quick peck on his chin, right where his tiny scar was._

_And half the terror and unhappiness that had been eating him away since spring finally ebbed._

Brynna took her basket from him that he'd been carrying, it broke his memory and she considered, "I am."

It was a much better answer than the other time he had asked.

She removed Hiccup's cloak and handed it back to him, "Though I do regret what happened to Svenan."

That was a surprise, considering Brynna was the one who had set the events in motion.

"It was very, very...unfortunate," Hiccup felt the need to go into a tactful stance because good and bad had both been begotten from his Astrid's elder brother's death.

"I don't know, he just—I trusted him and to find out all that he had done—" she seemed to be struggling for words, maybe she didn't know the Viking word for what she was trying to communicate. "It _infuriated_ me to the point I had to tell someone. I wanted him to be punished, and he was but yet I feel no better about it."

She looked like she could use a hug but instead Hiccup reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, "What's done is done."

He then clasped his cloak back onto his shoulders, ready to head out but Brynna stopped him and ran to the cupboards, gathering little spices into a bone vial. Fishlegs's business really was taking off. He'd be able to afford a stall space in no time, that is, if Ruff's marriage contract wasn't too expensive.

"Here, these are herbs we have in Éire that when consumed, will cause one to be relaxed. I think you're wife should like them."

Brynna knew Astrid's feelings, and was trying her best to be thought better of. He nodded with a smile, "Thank you."

He finally had made it home but Astrid was not on the loom anymore which he gave a silent curse because he had forgotten to ask Fishlegs for a new shuffle and Fish hadn't even wondered why Hiccup was there in the first place which went to show how preoccupied the guy's mind was with getting married.

Toothless immediately hopped up and started treading while threading in circles around his legs in want of fish.

"Wait until dinnertime bud," Hiccup laughed to which Toothless grumbled and sat back on his haunches, nearly brushing his head to the candlelight fixture that hung from the ceiling.

"Where's Astrid?"

The Night Fury gave a nod toward the stairs.

He climbed them to their room and saw she had fallen asleep in his absence. Her long body lay across the bed from side to side which looked rather funny.

He was kind of disappointed because he was needed back at the Mead Hall at sundown to partake in a formal farewell feast with Dane Officials before they departed in the morning; he'd wanted to spend some time with her as he hadn't the chance really all week playing host to the prospective alliance members.

He inwardly grinned remembering her to say '_rest was for those who need it_', and it looked like she _had _needed it. He bit his cheek to make his smile go away in case she should wake and catch him laughing at her while maneuvering her to lay across the bed in the proper direction. She stirred only a little but didn't wake.

He covered her, and then leaned over and kissed her after swiping her hair from her eyes.

"I love you," he whispered, then gave a light touch to the vague convex shape of her stomach, "and you too."


	3. Lives of Wives

Astrid hated dresses. Long skirts too. They were bothersome—why? They drug across the ground and got dirty, rendering them harder to clean. She had leggings on underneath her dress and so tucked the ends of her skirts in them, making her appearance quite odd but it was only for a brief time, as she seemed a round ball that dodged the sheets of rain making her way toward the new Ingerman lodge.

She beat her fist against the door, growing grumpier as the rain fell on her. Why did she always seem to be rained on? Oh because that just how it was in Berk. _Rain_.

The fresh Missus Ingerman answered the door, "Thanks for coming."

Astrid let out a breath as she carefully sat herself into a chair in the main room. Her belly was overly plump with child. She was proud of herself though, nearly seven months in and she had yet to be required to stay on bed rest by the village midwife.

"You get bigger every time I see you," Ruff noted daring to give the roundness a light, prodding poke of curiosity.

"I feel myself get bigger everyday," Astrid grumbled. She hated the mood changes. She wanted to be nice—after all, Ruffnut had invited her over and she hadn't seen her friend since the legendary Ingerman betrothal nearly a month prior.

"Sounds rough. I'd hate to be in your shoes."

"That's because your feet would be swollen," Astrid let one more sarcastic grumble out. "Anyway you need help?"

"Yeah..."

Ruff brought out something wrapped in a kerchief, unfolded it and Astrid made out an oblong black object as big as her forearm.

"What. Is .That?"

"Bread."

"You're joking! Did you leave it the fire all night?"

"No! And it's the fifth one to turn out like this! My husband is going to starve to death if I can't get this bread-making thing nailed."

It was common knowledge Fishlegs had an abundant appetite. He had always snuck extra portions at celebration feasts and brought snacks to dragon training when they were younger.

"Oh Odin. You're domestically challenged, aren't you?"

Ruff could only glare, not humored in the least. "I wanted you to _observe_ me make another loaf and tell me what I'm doing wrong."

"Why can't your mother help?"

"She's busy with her work, all you're doing is lying around and waiting to pop a baby."

Astrid gave a frown—Ruff made it sound like it wasn't a trying task. She secretly hoped Ruff would conceive just as quickly as she had just to understand what it felt like having a tiny, developing Viking in the womb and stealing all energy all hours of the day.

"Why not get you're father-in-law to help? He's a master-baker."

"Oh, yeah so I can be shamed for all eternity by Master Ingerman when he sees my black bread."

Astrid was surprised Ruff cared what others thought. She must have felt the pressure to be worth her contract.

Astrid found herself let out a giggle at Ruff's expense—it was rude but it felt good after being in a bad mood for a few days. Nothing really _made_ her in a bad mood—it was probably just the pregnancy hormones. Her unborn son or daughter was wreaking havoc on all parts Astrid. Just a little longer, and then she'd finally be a mother.

Ruff glared on, now unamused—waiting for her answer.

"Okay. I will advise you to the best of my knowledge—be warned my bread is plenty mediocre."

Ruff actually snorted, she obviously thought Astrid was being the modest lady. Ruff must have been so horrible that she thought Astrid the perfect clean and able wife. Hardly—the main room of the Haddock lodge was unkempt and the dishware hadn't been washed in a week.

Why did they both have to fall in love? Instead of the new worries of caring for husbands, they could have been living free and wild. Or maybe those were just the thoughts Astrid was occupied with for she was nervous and anxious for this child to be born.

She hauled herself up, felt the baby kick and wondered if she could wait the near two more months with it inside without killing Hiccup or anyone else. He had the gall to hide her axe from her in fear of his own life—_coward_.

"I got all the ingredients together," Ruff waved her hand over the tabletop. Astrid took note and realized immediately what was wrong.

"Where is the water?"

"Water?"

"Yes, bread needs water"

"Bread _has_ water?" the wonderment in Ruff's tone was too amusing not to crack a smile.

"I think I've solved the mystery to why it turns out crispy black. What in Midgard had you been using before?"

"This cream stuff," Ruff held up a cup. The cream was kind of lumpy which made Astrid wonder how fresh it was. She also hoped Fish was still alive if he had, in fact, consumed any samples of Ruff's previous attempts.

"No wonder it crisped out, there wasn't enough moisture for it," she scanned the room, "where's your water barrel?"

"Over there," Ruff pointed below the staircase but when Astrid waddled over and lifted the lid, it was empty.

"Oh um, I ran out."

Ruffnut was a horrible housekeep.

"Okay, well grab a bucket, you can go fetch at least that much and have enough for bread."

"It's raining, can't I just let it fill that way?"

Astrid shrugged, "If you want to wait—where's a bucket?"

"I know we got one after the wedding but I haven't really had time to sort everything out," Ruff began rummaging through an assortment of home-wear—dishes, jars, utensils and the like that were all stacked on one side of the room, "It's over here somewhere—I used it like—two weeks ago?"

Astrid was surprised at the lack of organization so long after the wedding, "What have you been doing _all_ month?"

And it only took a sly gaze from Ruff to answer Astrid's question.

"Oh, I see."

Maybe Astrid's wishes for Ruff would come true quicker than she would expect.

She couldn't blame Ruff for being lazy.

Astrid herself had procrastinated horribly through her honeymoon before getting her home together. Still though, she _had_ gotten it together—taking that new role of wife as seriously as she ever took dragon training.

"Ah, found it!" Ruff sang and shoved it out the back door. She left the door open and they sat down and watched the downpour. The overhang of the roof kept the rain from falling toward the inside.

"So what are you going to name it?"

"What?"

Ruff rolled her eyes, "_That._ That thing in you—have any names thought for it?"

Astrid had considered many names if it were a girl—ancestral names such as Hiccup's mother's name, Astrid's grandmother's name and fierce names that would ward of gnomes. She could never decide on those though.

However, if her baby was born a son she knew resolutely it would be named after her brother, Svenan the Suave. And Hiccup hade made no objections when she told him of it.

"I've thought of some," she answered vaguely. She could see Ruffnut wanted more of an answer and sighed. "If it's a girl, I'm not set on anything—if it's a boy, he shall be named after my brother."

Ruff raised her brows and a hint of melancholy washed over her expression, and Astrid had to wonder why. He was Astrid's _brother. _He had been beaten to death for betraying the Vikings. So there was a reason for Astrid to still feel the sting of heartbreak but Svenan had meant nothing to Ruff, so why did she look so sad at the mention of him?

"What?" Astrid asked with a natural defense.

"The last thing he said to me was 'Goodbye Ruffnut', and then they came for him. It was so—haunting."

"What? You were with my brother in his last free moments?"

"Yeah," Ruff gazed out to the rain while pulling her knees to her chest. She started absently biting her thumbnail.

This was news to Astrid. She was envious that Ruff was the last person who had seen him well and angry that the woman never said anything about it. Astrid had seen Ruff plenty times since then so why the Hel didn't she say anything?

"He kissed me."

Oh. That was probably why.

"You let him?"

"No, Svenan surprised me."

"He really liked you Ruffnut," Astrid recalled her brother's thoughts the winters before, "I don't think he was trying to play you."

Astrid knew her brother was notorious for manipulating pretty girls to do his bidding, a rather yucky character trait but still, he was her older brother and she missed him. She missed him so much. He had been gone for longer on his scouting voyages but just knowing the fact that he would never return made her miss him ten times more and brought that sadness to her heart. She had to stop thinking about it—her sadness would infect her baby.

"I think there's enough water now," Ruff sat forward abruptly and swiped the bucket from the ground below. It was a quarter full, and Astrid agreed it was enough. She watched over as Ruffnut added the water and flour grain together on the tabletop. They continued to talk about life, what they had expected with being married to men and what they had gotten instead.

"Hiccup is really busy, I wish he had more time to spend with me," Astrid noted.

"That's what you get for marrying the chief," Ruff wasn't sympathetic, "Fishlegs is always around, it seems I can't get rid of him."

"He's not here now," Astrid pointed out—still the worry of him dying from poisoned bread at the back of her mind. Not that Ruff could hide the body, it was so big. Unless she chopped—_Oh Odin, Astrid! What is WRONG with you?_

She squinched her eyes close and fought a wave of sickness at herself.

"Yeah, he's gone because I told him to go do something productive. He went hunting, but that was earlier. He's probably under a tree somewhere trying not to get rained on."

"Is he needy?"

Ruff shrugged, "You could say that—after all, that is why I am making yet another loaf of bread. That man could eat a whole deer."

Astrid gave a laugh, "Is the sweetness of your honeymoon turning bitter already?"

"Nah, he's just stressed. He's _this_ close to being able to buy a stall to sell his bone-work. However there's other people interested in the space he wants and he's worried they'll purchase it first."

It was kind of amazing to see Ruffnut so genuinely interested and involved with another person's affairs. Astrid wasn't really any part of Hiccup's business as Chief but Ruffnut helped Fishlegs sell his bone-work. Astrid felt a pang of jealousy—which was a first. Though Ruff never usually admitted to her jealousy, Astrid could always tell it had been the other way around.

"Oh, I learned something new. You know in looms the thing we put yarn on?"

"Yeah, a shuffle."

"It's called a 'shuttle!'"

"No, I'm pretty sure it's a _shuffle_." Astrid had a shuffle, and Hiccup had finally gotten around to replacing her broken one. Toothless had a rug to sleep on that Winter, and barely in time before first snowfall.

Ruff shook her head, "I thought it was a _shuffle_ too, Hel—so did Fishlegs and he _makes_ them but I tried selling one to mother for her loom and she gave me one of those _looks _like when she thinks I'm being completely stupid. She told me it's a 'shuttle'. Goes to show we know nothing about looms, Astrid. We'd have been better off being shield maidens."

Astrid still liked saying 'shuffle', perhaps she misheard when her mother was explaining the loom parts.

Ruff would have made an excellent shield maiden. If she hadn't been so argumentative with Tuffnut during training she might have even surpassed Astrid in skill. Ruff had a short attention span though. Why did she get married of all things, did she have enough attention to be a wife?

"You know, when I first heard you and Fishlegs were together I thought it was some kind of scam."

Ruff began to laugh and laugh so hard she nearly doubled over, "Funny you should say that because it _was _a scam. I needed him to keep away those other men who were suddenly showing me interest after the Spring Raid."

"Don't you think you've taken it a little far?" Astrid replied dryly, indicating to the wedding band carved of sheep bone that was set with a bit of turquoise on Ruff's finger.

Ruff wavered her hand like it was nothing, still in a laughable air, "Don't get me wrong, I love the guy now. I don't think I could have asked for a better husband—" she finished kneading the dough, shaped it and then set it on a wooden board then furrowed her brow as she set it over the cooking fire, "though I could have asked for one with less of an appetite."

They both giggled at Ruff's words. Some poor village girls had to settle for what their parents had agreed to. Both women had been extremely lucky to be wed to those men they were fond of.

"Okay, well if you're done, I'll be heading home—it was good talking. The next time you have another domestic challenge just call me over."

"Why because you're so perfect at it?"

Didn't the sow understand she was joking? She just liked their chitchats, which could easily turn into spit-spats—in fact, she felt this was turning into one.

Astrid brushed off Ruff's compliment-insult and opened the front door to leave, calling behind her, "No, because you're so horrible at it!"

She saw a drenched Fishlegs on his way home, without a kill. Poor guy must have been hungry.

She said as they passed, "Fear not, you'll always have bread."

His face turned white but yet he continued forward.

The rain kept falling and the Chief's wife could be heard laughing loudly, noted to be in a rare good mood for once.

* * *

**A/N**: Bahaha, poor Fishlegs. I know this chapter title rhymes and so does the last but that's not going to be a common theme FYI. I'm just in a Dr. Suess Mood.


	4. Perfect

**A/N: **This wasn't a planned chapter, it was a prompt written for **Mediate89** that just happened to fit into my story so I'm shuffling it into the correct place on the timeline since this story is chronological. So hopefully no one got lost or confused ;/

Oh and this be a **partial birth scene**, not graphic but researched to an extent -mostly a look into emotion and character - so fair warning for anyone not interested to click to next chapter.

* * *

Astrid considered herself to have a high threshold for pain. She'd been scraped, scratched, cut, bruised, sprained all in the process of training to become the warrior she was expected to be. She felt the pain but for the most part blocked the feeling. Physical pain was not fun, but she didn't try to spend too much time feeling it and letting it bog her mind down when there were more important things to worry about in life.

But for the first time in her life the pain was overwhelming, and she couldn't suppress her screaming. There was no ailment, none except to get it over with.

"Push!"

It was an annoying command said yet again, for what seemed to be times too many. The bossy vocals of the woman at the end of the bed, looking between Astrid's legs—it made her weary and annoyed though she knew she shouldn't have been, the lady was only trying to help.

Though she _was_ pushing, she had and had been for what seemed a day though the labor had only started a few hours ago.

_Astrid had been baking—stress baking actually. She probably shouldn't have been up and about but had been losing her mind at sitting in bed and doing nothing. She had a lower backache and she was so anxious she was muttering to herself, mostly unwarranted threats to Hiccup who wasn't even present—who was either doing his job or working some projects in the forge._

_In the middle of kneading bread-dough, there had been a sharp pain, lasting long enough to blink. The next thing she knew, there was a wetness at her feet and she was calling for the village midwife in a panic—out the front door to anyone who would hear._

_"GET ME THE MIDWIFE. NOW!"_

_Though nothing could be done except for her to find a comfortable position to lay in as those sharp pains came and went and grew and grew until she was gnawing at her wrist, flour on her hands, and screaming Hiccup's name in ire. Where was he? Why could no one find him?_

She screamed again, feeling the blood in her cheeks and her heart thrashing against her rips and the unsurpassed pain shooting through her lower body as she desperately tried to bring her child to the world.

"Push!"

"I _am_ pushing!" Astrid growled, finally forming her annoyance and shouts of discomfort into speakable words. She cinched her eyes closed and screamed once more—tears conglomerating into her eyes again—they had before quite a few times but she had banished them back inside. She hated this lack of control. This had to be the worst pain she had ever felt-the worst in the world.

She clenched her jaw, teeth pressed to teeth as tightly as were able before she took in a shaky breath. She had been holding it, and as a result had felt dizzy. Her body was so tense, and working at such an intense endeavor that she had forgotten to breathe.

She tried again, her knees wobbling and fingers digging into the linens of the bed, clutching the mattress below for stability.

"There's the head!"

_Only?_

"Push!"

A yell tore from the depths of her, the searing of what seemed her inner-thighs to her navel—it felt like burning, she would not have wished the pain on her most hated enemies.

The contracting and stretching was the most pain she had ever felt in her life. It was as if someone had stuck a sword in her…

"Push!" the midwife urged again.

Astrid's thoughts were so clouded with the raw feelings she didn't have time to wonder about anything else. All that mattered was ending this. She needed it to end. Right. NOW.

She heard crying through her pounding head, not hers though. She held her breath again and another wave of pain swept over her. She would tear out all her hair to make it stop then.

"The babe is out!"

Astrid let her breath out, tears running freely down her cheeks at knowing it was the end, at hearing her baby—_her_ baby's cries. She would finally be able to meet them.

She got to see them for what seemed 10 seconds before they were whisked away to be cleaned. It seemed so fast she couldn't even get a good look, they were covered in the liquids of birth. She didn't even have time to glance down to determine if she had a son or daughter and was too sore to think to ask.

She could barely move, there was blood and a big mess. She wasn't in control and that's what she hated the most about it. She couldn't pave over the pain like she had in the past, but then again no pain had ever felt so intense.

She waited out the remains of her labor and everything was cleaned by the midwife and her apprentice and all Astrid wanted was her baby returned to her. It was unfair to do all that work and not be able to hold them.

"_Where_ is my child?" Astrid demanded, her voice raspy from her screams—serious, and on the verge of tears from all the emotions running through her. She was impatient and irritable.

"With the Chief, my lady."

So he _had_ returned from wherever he had been before.

"HICCUP!" she shouted immediately, completely infuriated that he was hoarding their child while she was trapped in bed, in pain, and alone. To think he had been there the whole time and not even checked to see if she was all right. "HICCUP!"

The door opened slowly and she saw him peek in and a hint of fear yet with overwhelming relief was shining in his eyes.

"They told me I had to wait. I was flying Toothless but came as soon as I was told but I wasn't supposed to come in," he seemed to be braver as he continued and more of him appeared in the threshold. "She shouted at me."

Her husband did not like being shouted at. He gave a light glare to the midwife who nodded her head unapologetically before leaving the room so the new parents could have their privacy, but not without one last bit of advice, "He'll be needing fed soon."

Then they were alone.

And Astrid's heart soared at hearing the hint of gender—concluding that she had bore a son.

"Are you feeling alright?"

He finally had asked. She must have looked fine if not for worse for wear—her hair mussed and tangled, her skin flushed, exhaustion in her eyes.

"I just want to hold my baby," she held out her arms, her tone a near plead. Her anger was all but vanished at the sight of Hiccup standing there, holding a swaddled infant in his arms—by instinct, her two most favorite people in the world.

His lips lifted in a half-grin and he approached the bedside, crouching onto his knees to meet her level.  
"Meet your son, Svenan, the younger."

Her breath hitched at the name, the understanding, the reality—she had a son. She had a son and Hiccup had remembered what he was to be named. _Svenan_, the name of the brother that had been lost to her.

As soon as he was setting in her arms she began to cry. Those hormones, those emotions, the fact she was now a mother all hit her at once. Hiccup's lips meet her forehead and then on her cheek, she could only feel it as her vision was too blurred with tears to actually see.

"It's all right. _Shhh_—it's all right." she heard him whisper, "You gave us a healthy, beautiful boy, what could be wrong?"

She sniffled, "I know—it's just—how could anything be more perfect?"

Hiccup raised a brow, never having heard her talk like that since he'd known her.

The babe was small, damp, pink-skinned, with a rounded little nose and a big head. Yes, _perfect_.

She traced her finger along Svenan's baby chin and his little nose squished in a wrinkle. She was amazed at how alert he was—his eyes open, seeming to study her—somehow understanding she was his mother from the sheer amount of love exuding off of her.

"Hi there," she choked out a teary laugh, knowing she could look at him for hours—still blown away at the fact that she had carried this perfect being for nine months and was just now meeting him. His presence alone made her dismiss the lingering stings and pains she had gone through for him.

"I love him so much," she adjusted the cover over his neck so he wouldn't catch a chill.

Hiccup smiled, "I do too," and reach out to Svenan's hand. The little fingers curled around his father's index finger and her heart could burst from joy at the sheer cuteness of it all. Even in her son's smallest movements she found infinite happiness. "He's going to be a good Viking, he's already strong."

She took note of her husband's gaze. His eyes were already fit to that of fondness and she had no doubt that Hiccup loved Svenan any less than she. She loved them both—they were both hers—her family.

"I don't care what he is as long as he's our son."

And Hiccup had to raise his brows again at her claim, as he was so used to his father expecting the world from him his entire childhood—their son wouldn't be burdened with the expectation and she wouldn't ever know how thankful he was she had said so.

The door was prodded open and they saw an inquisitive Night Fury.

Speaking of family...

"He was very distressed at hearing you screaming, I tried assuring him you weren't in danger but it wouldn't stop him from scratching at the door."

Toothless was only concerned for her because he recognized that she was important to Hiccup.

The dragon cautiously padded into the room, almost apprehensive as if he were being tricked.

"He hasn't to worry anymore," she greeting the dragon with a warm smile, realizing that she hadn't even _heard_ him scratching the door during her labor.

His head shoved up under Hiccup's arm and she saw Hiccup tense and even restrain him just a bit as he eagerly sniffed the tiny human in her arms.

She should have been just as nervous as Hiccup about letting the dragon so close to their newborn, but she was completely elated and she trusted with everything she had that Toothless would not do anything to harm the _hatchling_ of his rider.

His nose brushed the linen that the infant was bundled in and then gave a quiet chirp—perhaps of glee or approval at the being that hadn't been there before. Hiccup lifted himself up against Toothless and gave her a kiss—this time to her lips and for a longer while. He hadn't kissed her like that for a long time—probably because she wouldn't let him as she was so hormonally moody the months prior.

"Thank you," he smiled, planting a smaller, quick kiss right next to her mouth, low on her cheek.

"For what?"

"Everything."

She smiled, her eyes beginning to feel heavy with another wave of tears and sleep. She managed to keep her wide smile of content through half-lidded eyes. Though a tear or two managed to slip away.

"I'll leave you two alone now. I need to let the world know that I have a son and that he and his mother are the most perfect beings in all of Midgard."

Svenan began to make little fussing cries then, probably hungry.

"Even when we cry?" she asked, lowering her own covering so he could be fed. Her husband's comment was ridiculous but she didn't mind being called perfect—she didn't mind at all. Even though she looked a mess and her skin was stretched.

"Even when you cry," Hiccup set his hand on Toothless to lead him out and they departed, but not without one final smile of absolute adoration from her partner.

Svenan had taken to her and started to greedily feed.

After he seemed to have his fill she set him next to her and laid on her side and simply watched him. At times she would take his hand and he would always—_always_ grab onto one of her fingers and make a baby grunt she could only take for glee.

And she would have done it forever, but Svenan gave a yawn and seemed to settle into a slumber.

She had never felt so womanly—so absolutely silly with loving giddiness. She didn't even know such a maternal instinct existed in her; she had even thought of babies with disdain upon first suspecting she had been pregnant. Even those who knew her wouldn't recognize the silly smile that had replaced her serious, contemplative frowns or often veiled smirks of humor.

She knew everything was changed now, she had always been apprehensive of the future before, of the unknown, but now, holding Svenan the younger close to her—her very own son—she couldn't wait for what would happen next because _he_ would be there. Svenan would unknowingly drive her to become the mother she could be—that she _wanted_ to be. It would be a challenging learning experience but she had her son and she had Hiccup and everything, for the moment, was _perfect_.


	5. The Relation to Organization

_Tap. tap. tap. tap._

Ruffnut's finger was lifting and dropping in a rhythmic motion on the table top as she sat and pondered. Pondering was something she avoided. She would much rather being doing activities that involved action. So far, all the action she had seen that day was picking up dirty garments that were tossed about the bedroom.

Her husband was messy.

Ruff was not messy.

Once she got to it she could organize even the worst of Loki's mischief. She always had her array of weapons neatly mounted on the wall from that of pinprick damage to deathblow, her tunics arranged by color from lightest to darkest.

One only assumed _she_ was messy because of the pigsty her brother left in his wake; her brother had been the messy one in the Thorston household—he who hardly bathed and wore the same clothes weeks without having them washed, and most of all he who never had a place for his things. Their differences in cleanliness proved that twins didn't have everything in common. But no, her bands, her wraps, her leggings, and even her helmet all had a place.

Maybe that was what threw her off when she had married and moved to a new lodge—she had to find a new place for _everything_—starting from scratch. She wasn't messy but she was kind of lethargic and a whole month of honeymoon with Fishlegs was enough to keep her mind occupied from organization. She had thought all the world that he would have been an organized person—and merely blamed the disarray of his parents' basement on just that—_his parents_ and assumed the poor guy couldn't ever keep it clean enough.

Fishlegs did not keep his things in places. Everywhere was a 'place' to him, whether it be the bed, the floor, the shelf, the table, the _rafters_. She hadn't broken to the point in which she chided him, but would think to make it clear by the way she grumbled and mumbled and swiped up his clothes or tools to find a place for them while he was right in the room. Her husband could be an oblivious fool sometimes despite being so observative.

_Tap. tap. tap. tap. tap. tap._

The sudden lack of action rendered her to boredom.

Fishlegs was at the stall, he had been there every day since he had bought the space. He had moved all his bone-work and associated tools there, which actually helped her as in there was less stuff for her to find places for.

Ruff kind of missed him parked out front of their lodge so then every time she had completed a task she had set for herself, could just step outside and shout and holler to cause potential customers to stop by and consider her husband's goods. Now he was down at market, and she had nothing to do at all. Or if she did, she just didn't want to do it.

She would have bothered Astrid for entertainment but Astrid was too busy with her newborn son to make time for Ruffnut. She hadn't seen the baby yet but heard that he was supposed to be the cutest thing since Baldur. Of course Astrid and Hiccup would have the most adorable spawn known to Odin.

With the house in the best order she could get it, she clomped outside into the breezy Midsummer Day.

She gave a whistle and soon two long necks snaked behind her most sneakily but she was used to it, and she whirled around and latched onto the left one. It hissled in surprise while its counterpart trilled with amusement.

"Let's get outta here," she swung up onto the right neck and the Zippleback took flight. She didn't care where it went—not giving it a direction was all a part of the thrill. What she loved about the dragon's long necks were than she could easily lean forward and practically lay the length across one. She rested her cheek against the green scales of the right neck and glanced over to the left. She had always remembered Tuff to be riding there, always shouting taunts or building his ego to himself and no one else. She gave a frustrated huff, hoping he would come home soon—not that she _missed _him—he just needed to be there, as something seemed missing without him that threw of her sense of organization. He had been gone for awhile on a sea voyage. She wondered if he had reached the continent yet and would curse him if he ran into anything cool and didn't bring her back a souvenir.

She felt the Zippleback's wings shutter signaling they were closing toward a land. They were away from the village, near the hillsides where the sea met land. The right head stretched forward and Ruff slid onto the upper neck just enough to take a jump off into the grass. She stood before the cut-out hills, weathered from natural erosion and had stripped their sides facing the sea. Clay was easily taken from these kinds of hills.

She stuck a hand into the moist earth and grabbed the semi-solid element, it gooped between her fingers. With a snicker she turned and threw it at Right who dodged it and Left ended up with half a face of dripping clay. Right snackered at its own cleverness and Ruff took that time to grab another clomp. Right stopped its antics when it too had clay on its head.

It was Left's turn to taunt the other head, and they began to snarl in argument. They couldn't hurt each other, because one had the fumes while the other had the lighter.

Right gurgled with green gas and she could hear left spackle and strike up its own inner weapon.

"Guys! Don't!" Ruff called but it was too late, the sparks met with the gas and there was a big _boom_ in the middle and then two, formerly green faces were rapidly blinking behind a mask of char.

She put herself in between the squabbling heads, and noticed that the clay was hard and dry. She peeled a piece off Right's cheek and felt the transformed clay—it felt just like the pottery that was sold at market. Although, from what she remembered, those took awhile to make—they had to be shaped and then set in the bonfires awhile. She curiously grabbed another handful of clay and squished the water out so it was half-damp and so clumped better. She pinched around it making a hole and then it formed a small cup of sorts.

She set it down and then managed to catch the dragon's attention, "Hey! Hey! Com'ere. Fire at this thing!" she pointed to her small pseudo-pot.

The heads accosted each side of the little clay piece and the right head looked at the left head and the left head shrugged its neck. They both regarded Ruff as though she was mad.

"Just fire it! I'll give you both extra fish tonight."

'_Fish'_ was something they understood, with a gung ho attitude the fumes were released and spark ignited. A small explosion of sorts and Ruff cleared the smoke to see the little pot had been turned solid…but it was in pieces from the explosion.

She huffed and leaned back into the Zippleback. She almost thought she had been clever.

She was back to pondering.

A flock of Terrors were squealing in the sky above. She sat up with a start, realizing she just had the wrong kind of firepower to do what she wanted.

She called and clicked her tongue and made kissy noises to get one of their attentions. She even tied emulating their high little growls but finally a red Terror broke from its pack curiously and sailed downward. The Zippleback had lost interest in Ruff's activities and started splashing each other with ocean water.

"Hey little thing," Ruffnut greeted it. It just cocked its head and watched her with its bulgy eyes—most likely anticipating food for answering her call.

She constructed another little clay bowl and set it where she had set the one before.

"Fire this."

She pointed but the Terror only blinked.

"Oh for Odin's sake you dirty mercenary," Ruff dug through her pockets until she found a morsel of leftover honey cake she had eaten for breakfast. Fishlegs's father had given it to them the day before and Ruff made sure to save every last piece for her pastries were just awful when she attempted them and Master Ingerman well—he was the _master_.

Terrors were known to raid homes' slop-piles; they were the scavengers of the sky and were not picky.

She held it out and the Terror sniffed around her palm before backing up and flicking its tongue out to reel it in.

"Okay so fire it now."

It circled the clay pinch pot and then took to flight without as much as a flame.

"HEY!" Ruff shouted angrily at the thing for blowing her off. Once in air it twisted around with a sharp hiss and took aim, letting a precise snipe of flame shoot from its throat where it hit the clay and sizzled, immediately transforming it to pottery.

"Oh that's freaking awesome!" Ruff reached out to touch it but yelped and pulled her fingers back. Of course it was still hot. She stuck her fingers in her mouth and smiled, very proud of herself for thinking of the new method. She didn't know of anyone else who had used dragon's breath to fire their pottery.

Her smile became even wider as she realized that this new thing could be used to her advantage.

She spent the rest of the morning and afternoon sitting at the shore and forming different shapes of bowls and pots and cups with the clay from the hill. She would have to put them somewhere until she could coax another Terrible Terror to fire it.

When she was younger she had an interest in crafting earthen ware, but soon found out it was more fun to break it, something her mother never appreciated. She beat the clay in between her hands and then used her spare spearhead to cut the clay into strips then coiled them, scoring them with the tip of the arrowhead before adding them on top of one another.

This could be a business venture. She had finally found a craft she could possibly be really good at and she was excited. Not cooking, nor sewing but she could see herself as a potter. She placed all her wares up near the hill so the tide wouldn't wash in and cause their particles to soften and become runny. The next day she would bring bits of fish and coerce Terrors to use their flames on them. If this worked out, not only could she have Fishlegs sell them at his stall but for less than the usual charge for they would be faster and easier to make. She was giddy with prospective entrepreneurship.

She gave a shrill whistle to the Zippleback and it flew near so she could climb on top. She usually rode Right but decided to get on the left neck because she saw all the little looks of loneliness it got despite having an extra head as its constant companion.

It missed her brother.

"It's okay," she patted its cheek and crawled on top. Right let out a grunt of disapproval.

_So, __**this**__ is what it's like on the left side_," she mused, looking to her right. It felt weird.

They got back to Berk by suppertime. She left them off at the high rise in the village center and made her way to her home. They chorkled at her, reminding her of her promise to give them extra fish for exploding her clay pot. She was messy. She was covered in silt and clay.

When she entered, she was grabbed into a squeeze. She immediately hauled her weight on the assaulter's arm in attempt to throw them over her shoulder but they were too big and she realized they weren't an assaulter but her own husband. Of course, why would some enemy bandit be in her home? Logic, simple logic—she needed to keep her fighting instinct in check or else she might really hurt him one of these days.

"Where have you been? I was looking everywhere for you after I came home. Why are you so muddy?" Fishlegs rambled out, and as he did his stomach rumbled. Everyone was wanting fed!

"It's not mud, its clay. I have this idea—" she proudly went on and on, explaining what had happened and what she had been doing.

"I don't know if I can sell pottery. I advertise bone-made items and there's a stall across market that sells pottery already—you would be taking their business away."

"Who cares? Free market is a beautiful thing, it gives people _options_."

"Well, I suppose I can give it a try. Where did you say all your stuff was?"

"It's all back on the other side of the island. I couldn't carry it all. I need to go to the spring and wash up, you can skewer whatever smoked Salmon we have left and cook it for dinner."

Fishlegs took off his boots and left them in the middle of the main room, then going to see what they had to eat that night.

"Sounds like you could use some organization."

Fishlegs felt something hard hit him in the side of his head and looked down to see one of the boots he'd just taken off just as heard the front door slam shut.

* * *

**A/N:** So I started writing this chapter this afternoon and the best part of writing this was making up imaginary words for dragon sounds :) Ruff has a slight OCD, that's why everything has to have a place and an order for her.


	6. Sons and Dragons

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III was easily known as the first person anyone should go to when having a question about dragons. Hiccup had studied them, observed their mannerisms, knew what would calm or provoke certain species because he, over years, had come to know their traits. He wasn't the only one though; he did spread his knowledge and others had been just as interested in learning as proven by Fishlegs Ingerman who was unofficially the second most authority on dragon factoids and first on any specific statistics a person should know about the fire beasts.

Hiccup knew he was far from knowing _everything_ about all the kinds of dragons out there, but one day—out of the blue he was hit with a suspicion—of a characteristic shared by all dragons he hadn't considered before. A question.

It started when he casually looked over to his son on the floor of the main room, playing with Toothless. He had seen it plenty of times before, Svenan the younger trying to crawl up the Night Fury's tail and onto his back—pretending to ride him like he saw his father to do.

The one and a half year old child only made nonsensical and incoherent noises of glee when he managed to get that far on Toothless, swaying side to side, emulating a movement despite the dragon sitting still and putting up with it.

What had caused Hiccup to hypothesize was that this time Svenan fell and before Hiccup or Astrid could leap forward and catch him, a half of a finned dragon tail whipped around and coiled around the toddler with exact precision—only to carefully set him down onto the ground where he happily was determined to try climbing again.

Hiccup saw Toothless roll his eyes and let out a light snuff of air.

The latter part of Hiccup's theory formed because even though Svenan sometimes pulled too hard on Toothless's ears or shouted and screamed loudly in them while on his back—the dragon did not lash out. If Svenan became too much to handle, Toothless left the room.

He knew Toothless was committed to protecting the young boy, but wondered if that was just a characteristic developed due to the strong bond of chief and the night fury or perhaps it was a quality that encompassed all dragons.

Hiccup's new hypothesis of a new dragon characteristic boiled down to this: Dragon's would not harm children.

Of course he had to test this if it were to be inarguably true. First he gathered more information to support the claim.

Being Chief consisted of two parts—the role of diplomat and advisor: settling disputes and overseeing village projects and then there were tasks of his craft. Being Chief was _not_ a craft nor a trade so on those days when there were no visitors to schmooze with, no matters to settle and no projects to oversee he found himself right back at the place he considered his second home—the forge. Gobber was growing older and increasingly had taken time off from filling weapons orders. Hiccup had a lot on his plate between his duty and his work.

Stoick had been a helmet maker when he was chief, though helmets were a one-time deal usually. They didn't need re-forged or sharpened or casted multiple times or in multiple orders and did not take up vast amounts of time. A Viking usually just had their one helmet and then any number of weapons in their personal collections.

The Forge was where Hiccup dwelled on his new hypothesis, his concentration straddling his task and his thoughts with no problem as he had come to do metalwork as second nature by the time he was twenty years old.

On the days he was out and about doing his job as Chief, he'd casually inquire to those parents with children if any dragons had ever made an attempt to strike them. Children were wide-eyed and innocent and a complacent terror lounging in the sunshine was as harmless looking as a sheep.

Children would accost the dragons and squeeze them, pull on them, shout too loud at them, yet there was no account of them striking back.

All answers pointed more and more to his suspicion being true. Not one child had ever been harmed directly by a dragon since the battle of the Magmadragonus Giganticus Maxim, or the commonly known _Green Death—red _to others_._

When dragons used to raid Berk, they would set houses aflame and those homes might have children in them but if a child had been sitting in the middle of the market, a dragon would always avoid causing harm to them—or so he remembered, it was also a fact backed up by the help of Stoick when asked of it. The other elders confirmed it was true, though they wrote the reason for this off as children being too wiry for the dragon's appetite if they did happen to somehow manage to get outside during those raids.

Still though, nothing was _fact _and Hiccup's mind itched to find out if it were true or not.

"Astrid, could I perhaps care for Svenan tomorrow?"

Svenan had been put to cradle right after supper but was probably still awake and attempting to climb out. They were eating a dinner of boar which Astrid had hunted down during Svenan's natptime, but she had halted the food to her mouth and looked her husband over suspiciously. He had never offered to spend the day with his son before—for one—Svenan was still young, just learning to talk and communicate—there was no reason for him to be out and about. The other reason was that Hiccup was usually too busy to keep a decent eye on the lad.

"Why?"

He knew she would ask that, well naturally. She was Svenan's mother, she had the right to know. However his full reason would earn him a flat out '_no_'. That by having Svenan around dragons, he could make sure that his hypothesis was true. Which meant there was a chance he could be wrong, but he already had himself convinced inside.

Hiccup drew a circle on the tabletop with his finger and answered in a partial truth. "I wanted to show him the dragons, see if he can mimic their names and learn them."

"Don't you think he has more _important_ words to learn?"

"My heart, you can't dictate the order our son will learn words and which words. They will come to him when they come. It's been decent weather all week, at least he could use the air."

Astrid bit a morsel of her boar leg and chewed slowly, considering.

"Fine, take him. It will give me some much needed free time," she decided but pointed the meat-stick at him, "But you be careful with him you hear me Master Haddock?"

"He's my _son_, I wouldn't let any harm come to him! I swear to Odin!" Hiccup held his hand up.

She nodded satisfied and continued to eat.

So the next morning he found himself with young Svenan hoisted high on his shoulders while grabbing handfuls of his father's russet hair and giggling at unseen amusements.

"Da Da Da Da," Svenan was chanting, and Hiccup didn't know if it was meant as a song or if his son was addressing him.

"Hey buddy, want to see some different kinds of dragons today?"

"Dag'n!" He pointed to Toothless who was standing before them. Svenan knew what '_Dag'ns_' were at least. Hiccup pulled Svenan off his shoulders and held him against his side.

"Night Fury," he pointed at Toothless.

"Dag'n!"

"Yes, he's a _dragon_ but he is also a _Night_ _Fury_."

"Dag'n!"

Hiccup sighed but perked up immediately and pointed at himself, "Who am I?"

"Dada!" Svenan reached up and pulled on Hiccup's beard. It had grown more lengthy over the year and Astrid told him she felt conflicted because it was handsome but it kind of tickled when she kissed him.

"Yeah-ah, that's right! Good job!" Hiccup encouraged his son and averted his head from grabby fingers. He just absolutely loved it when Svenan called him '_Dada_'.

As they made their way through to the village center where the dragon high rise was located, Hiccup swung Svenan upwards to which Svenan shouted gleefully. They laughed and finally Hiccup set Svenan on the first landing where a few Terrors and a Gronkle were perched. The Gronkle was dead asleep, lazy creature.

"Gronkle," Hiccup pointed at the rotund figure, growl-snoring. Svenan looked at it and then shyly grabbed his father around his neck.

"Dragon," Hiccup tried, perhaps his son would understand that.

"Dag'n," Svenan was hushed and he pointed down to Toothless. He knew the creature was sleeping and was afraid to wake it.

"Terror," Hiccup pointed at pint-sized ruby scaled dragon that was curiously sniffing the air around Svenan.

"Tor,"

Hiccup smiled; close enough.

They craned their heads back to see the upper landings where the other species were lounging.

"Dag'n!" Svenan squealed in a laugh, clapping his hands together. The Gronkle snorted in it's sleep again and his son's green eyes rounded and looked to it once more. He insisted in a whisper, "Shhh!"

Hiccup grabbed Svenan and then climbed onto Toothless's back, setting the toddler in front of him.

He wasn't going to fly Toothless but have them ride the Night Fury toward the old arena, it would be faster and there were more dragon species for Svenan to discover.

They arrived and Snotlout's Nightmare was snoozing in the middle of the arena. This was odd for Snotlout had told Hiccup that Firworm had been scarce the last few months, that he suspected she might have found a new hunting ground for herself on a nearby island.

Hiccup set Svenan down and was unhooking his prosthetic. In that blink of an eye his toddler was off. Svenan had learned how to walk and never wasted the chance to use the skill. Before HIccup could catch the tyke, he toddled forward straight toward Fireworm.

"Svenan!" Hiccup called in the means to distract the child and in anyway to stop him. He made a move to go after but had to stop because the dragon was no longer asleep and the situation had become an unknown kind of dangerous.

The sleeping eye cracked open and then widened to focus at the human child nearly upon her.

"Dag'n, dag'n, dag'n." Svenan chanted. The Nightmare's mouth was large enough to consume Svenan the younger five times over. The Nightmare's snout pointed toward Svenan and Hiccup about fainted.

Toothless gave a growl of warning to the Nightmare on Hiccup's behalf though Fireworm and Toothless never had gotten along. They had many dragon squabbles or so Hiccup had called them—the argumentative shrieks and shills of the scaled ones. The nostrils flared, catching the child's smell and she considered him. Hiccup just hoped to the Gods it wasn't a consideration to consume. He was positive dragons wouldn't harm children though!

Suddenly the Nightmare snatched Svenan up by nipping the back of his oversized tunic. Svenan happily shouted at being whisked into the air but Hiccup let out a panicked scream from deep within. He inwardly cursed the Nightmare, and most of all himself.

Toothless's growls were even more persistent but Fireworm shrugged them off and she spread her wings and took flight.

"**No**! No. No. No. **No**!" Hiccup ran towards Toothless and swung himself onto the dragon's back, hooking the end of his prosthetic into the stirrup, "Follow them! Oh Gods!"

Hiccup didn't want to try and reclaim his son while airborne, that was just dangerous and stupid for his child could fall and die.

_I am so stupid_, he chided himself keeping an eye on his son dangling from the mouth of one of the most fearsome fire beasts known to Viking.

_My son could possibly be torn to bits. Astrid is going to kill me. __Agh! I am a horrible father! __Why couldn't have I just left the matter alone_?

They were flying away from the island and as soon as the air around them started fogging a deep dread rose in Hiccup's stomach remembering the last time he had flown like this—toward Helheim's gate.

Why in the world would Firworm be taking Svenan _there?_

The peak of the volcano loomed overhead. Hiccup leaned in low, listening to the twitters and high pitched trilling and chatters of the dragons known to dwell inside. He and Toothless followed Fireworm through a side pocket that led toward the heated bowels. The absence of the Green death paid no affect in the reptilian population that thrived inside. Hiccup had been back to the volcano once or twice to check on the area but never stayed for long. It was the dragons's territory, and he respected it.

Dragons were flying around, skittering to one perch or another which made it hard for them to follow Fireworm.

They managed though and he saw the Nightmare tucker down on a ledge. Toothless perched above and Hiccup dismounted and jumped down, ready to take his son back.

However Svenan wasn't there. He looked around dismayed and realized they had at some point begun to follow another Monstrous Nightmare within the volcano. It was red scaled but it wasn't Fireworm. It bared it's teeth at HIccup for the intrusion of it's space.

Hiccup let out a shuddering, fearful sigh and let his head collapse into his hand, his mind racing. His toddler was like a needle in the haystack in a place like this.

"Toothless," Hiccup called up and the Night Fury cocked his head with an inquisitive '_grrur?'_.

"Where could he be?" Hiccup whispered looking out at the vibrant colors and wings of the many many dragons that adhered to the inner walls.

For all he knew Svenan had been eaten and his heart took the pain of being pierced with a stake. He would lose everything just because of one simple question. One nagging question he didn't have the good mind to ignore.

The shrill sound of a child's laughter broke through the noises, and the dragon chatter quieted just a bit. Hiccup jumped onto Toothless and the dragon was already flying toward where the noise was heard.

They circled and Hiccup saw Svenan sitting under the watch of Firworm, and he was clinging to a miniature Monstrous Nightmare.

_A baby Nightmare?_

They landed and Hiccup was dumbfounded. Since the eggs were laid in the volcano for the constant heated warmth and incubation, and then the young stayed in the nest until grown enough to fly—he and everyone else had never actually seen a baby dragon. He was still unclear on how often females laid eggs, if the different species had different intervals, or even how long the eggs took to hatch.

Though there had been no reports of children being taken, so the eggs must have taken quite a while to develop.

And there was his son seeming to play with the hatchling Nightmare.

_Fireworm is a mother?_

Just as Hiccup was a father.

Now it made perfect sense to why she had been scarce.

So she didn't want to eat Svenan, or even feed him to her young, but found him to be a suitable playmate for them.

One of the hatchlings noticed Hiccup and crawled over, they were as tall as his waist and their teeth were not yet grown enough to protrude from their jaw like grown Nightmares.

Another hatchling reached up and nosed Toothless in greeting.

"Hey there little guy," Hiccup reached out and set his hand on it's snout just as he had done to the mother many years ago to gain her trust.

Dragons greeted each other like so, therefore Hiccup had figured that a gentle hand to the snout was the equivalent in greeting for humans.

Hiccup sat to the ground and called Svenan's attention with a little more ease now knowing the situation better—the danger had seemed to pass though Hiccup still felt shaky,"Nightmare."

He was pointing at the jawsome dragons around them.

"Dag'n!" Svenan replied.

Apparently anything with big wings was a 'dag'n' evermore to his son.

Svenan and the baby nightmares rolled around as he giggled. They squealed and Hiccup had to look to Toothless with a raised brow.

Though he had been terrified, his hypothesis still held true and he would have to inform his cousin of the truth to Fireworm's scarcity—also warn his cousin to keep an eye on Brigid, his daughter born a few months younger than Svenan, so Fireworm wouldn't be a repeat kidnapper.

When Hiccup reasoned it had been a good enough playtime, he sat up and lunged forward to grab Svenan, immediately squishing his son into him between an embrace.

He had been scared that day, more scared than he had ever been before for the safety of Svenan and swore he'd never put his child in a situation like that again.

"Dada!"

He hugged his son even tighter, convinced it was the most perfect word he would ever hear. He lifted Svenan onto Toothless's back and climbed up behind him and mumbled, "It's a good thing you _can't _talk, because this is one thing we're_ never _telling your mother about."

* * *

**A/N:** Hiccup has a lot more to learn concerning parenting and dragons. Happy Day after HTTYD DVD Day!


	7. Taking Care of Business

He was in the middle of a meeting of sorts. A one-on-one actually, none of his commanders or any council he had collected over the few years of being Chief were present. He didn't feel like bothering anyone out of their day and besides, it was a meeting that he could handle by himself. He was getting a report of the status of the Western Islands from a Viking he had assigned the task.

Ever since the raid many seasons ago that had turned to an alliance with the Southern Islands, those Western clansmen were withdrawing themselves from his father's old war alliance. Hiccup didn't like that, because if they wouldn't be allies anymore then they were at risk of becoming enemies. It's not that he wanted to keep a _war_ alliance but an alliance in general—for peace's sake. As he was finding out there were many other Viking Clans that thought his efforts toward peace was a joke. They couldn't be expected to halt their hundred's years worth of lifestyle for the sake of one young leader with a vision for a better future. Still _trying_ was what mattered.

Astrid had once told him he was wasting his time, and he got angry at her. If he thought it was a waste of time he wouldn't be _doing_ it. Training Toothless, spending months on what Gobber said to be '_half crazed inventions_', and even attempting to infuse dragons toward everyday life, in a positive way in Berk would have been viewed as the biggest futilities—yet they were successful and he knew he wasn't wasting his time with them.

He couldn't help but to notice how deep his brow had furrowed as the report went on. He was in the Mead Hall.

Everyone was busy enjoying the last of their summer days—fishing, hunting—basking in the sun. All except him. He had business, and it seemed it would be never-ending.

There was a sudden ruckus just outside.

He held up his hand to indicate a pause in the verbal report as he got up to investigate. As soon as the doors opened, there seemed to be a whirlwind of people. He heard his cousin insist to them '_She couldn't just barge in like that._'

There were women, of all shapes and makes but one a head shorter than him managed to grab him tightly and then release him with a hard friendly-seeming shove.

"What is going on?" he asked in bewilderment, adjusting his shirt as it had been skewed by the force.

The movement ceased and the women were arranged in a formation of sorts, in the middle stood the one who had grabbed him. She with the heavy earrings, knives on every inch of her person hidden and not, the wild blonde hair still as untouched by human hands just as parts of the Amazonian Rain forest.

He knew who she was, though barely recognizing for the last time he had seen her they were both kids.

"Cami?"

"Right-O. Damn you've grown—you used to be such a little pipsqueak—"

He watched her eyes scan the length of him, registering everything new—visually catching up on ten years' worth of transformation, yet not even giving a second glance to his missing leg.

"Wait—wait...Cami**c_azi_**?" Snotlout's jaw nearly dropped in comprehension, remembering her well.

She was a girl from the Bog Isle and their tribe of females. She had been Hiccup's childhood friend with a knack for thieving, but she had been banished from Berk when she was ten years old by his father. She left an impression on the village for sure, and she also managed to snag an important possession that belonged to the previous Chief of Berk.

_Ten_. She held the title of youngest public nuisance and that was horrifyingly impressive of her with Hiccup living there since he was born and never had been bestowed that official label. He only got as far as _Worst-Viking-Berk's-Ever-Seen_ and even _Useless_.

Though by now he had made the entire village swallow their unkind names for him.

"What are you—?"

"Berk's under new management right? You wouldn't uphold my banishment would you Hic?"

"Well—no—"

"Great, let's start the party!"

"What party? Why are we having a party?"

"To celebrate my return you goof. Also there's a few things I need to discuss with you—" she trailed off and gave a nod toward her clanswomen.

One of her ladies unbuckled a ram horn from her belt and a few more followed her outside.

Pretty soon they the loud sound of a horn.

Snotlout had disappeared, probably to give forewarning to Stoick of the uninvited guest.

Hiccup peered outside and saw a train of Camicazi's clanswomen hauling their kills and baskets up toward the very hall they were currently in, up from the path that led to the docks.

"What is going on?"

"Don't get your underpants in a twist—"

"Uh—ah—you—you stay away from my underwear woman!" Hiccup's hands fell protectively at his belt.

She sniggered and grabbed him around the shoulder, "Chill out. I'll have my women start in on the feast. Have your best and favorites attend our dinner. We're gonna party like it's the year of Thor."

"It _is_ the year of Thor," Hiccup reminded her.

"No, I mean like the year of Thor when we were ten."

"That was a horrible year! You went and got yourself banished! After that I had no friends!"

"Oh you are so silly, Fishlegs was around I'm sure and thanks, I missed you too." Her arm moved to around his neck and held firm as she lifted on her toes and smacked a quick kiss to his lips, "Between you and me, it looks like you've managed well enough."

He was too busy blushing for a reply and hoping anyone who had seen her do that had good enough sense not to tell his wife. He didn't want to deal with any murders. He firmly took her shoulders and pushed her away.

"Don't kiss me."

"Why not?"

"I'm married."

To that she laughed, and his ire was sparked, his patience had already become thin with her despite their fond and rich history.

"So really what is this visit all about?"

"A few things actually," she flipped her hair and looked to be trying to remember.

"Which are—?"

"Hold your dragons, business later—welcomes first."

What she didn't realize that all his life was now, _was_ business.

He had to officially welcome her back to the island. He found himself stuck between a rock and a hard place because they were to have a grand feast and he was supposed to invite all his favorites to celebrate the cheer–his father would be included in that list but his father _hated_ the obnoxious girl that the feast was for.

"Why are you doing business anyway? Where's Bertha?"

Big Bertha was the Cheiftress of the Bog Isle last Hiccup knew, she was as big as his father was vast. Though he hadn't seen much of the female tribe in many years.

Camicazi had managed to loop her arm through his as he led her through the village, reacquainting her with the sights and introducing her to the new ones.

At his inquiry, she belted out a laugh, "Oh you. I'm running things on Bog Isle now, isn't that obvious?"

Fairly. He just was afraid for her clan. She wasn't the brightest firefly in the dark. She was impulsive, sneaky, though he was glad he still had a place in her good graces.

"So what happened to Bertha?"

Camicazi shrugged, "She retired. After the Spring Raid she just handed the job over. She says that Ragnarok is upon us."

"Oh man, uh were you raiding with our clan during that?"

Camicazi only gave him a wink and a broad smile before shouting orders at some Bogswomen. Her attention turned back to him, "I just want to let you know, I like this plan you have—you have some heart kid."

He felt a hard poke into his chest, "Thanks."

It felt good knowing she supported him at least.

I also heard about the drag—" suddenly she frowned and turned around faster than he'd ever known a human to be, with a whirl and a _whish_ two knives that must have been hidden on her were pinning Fishlegs to the wall of a structure by his garment. He was white and wide-eyed.

"Trying to sneak up on me eh? Well you might as well be a yak on ice."

"WHAT? Are you _crazy_? I was walking past to get some fish and _looked_ over because I didn't know who the Chief was hosting!"

Fishlegs looked terrified. He rightfully was more terrified than usual. He had a pregnant wife, she was probably demanding food and now he was dagger'd into the side of a shop which further delayed him.

"Hm, well you breathe loud and you should mind your own business."

"Hiccup _who is_ this lady?" Fish asked with a bewildered frown as Hiccup helped him be free of her weapons. "How could you let someone like this on the island?"

He looked to Camicazi and then to Fishlegs and realized neither of them recognized each other after the many years apart.

He began to laugh, and inwardly debate who should realize first.

"Well, 'Legs I'm not going to have her banished again."

Fishlegs raised a brow, comprehending the meaning of the words as both of hers rose in awe.

They said each other's names at once between unbelievable looks and matching tones of awe.

"You have a beard!"

"You're a lady!"

Hiccup only was amused at watching them reunite. She was full of gusto and Fishlegs was full of awkward as they embraced with reunion.  
"Ol' buddy pal, how's been the life?"

"Oh well…" Fishlegs grappled for words when she, in the same manner as with Hiccup, threw her arm around Fishlegs—though she was much shorter so her hand set at his back, "Fish…I'm getting fish. You?"

"Haha. Fish is getting_ fish_—I like it! I'm not _banished_ anymore," she smiled proudly and gave a slap to his back.

Fishlegs gave an eye to Hiccup, and Hiccup shrugged.

"As I was saying before the big Fish here snuck up on us—"

"I wasn't _sneaking_ on anyone," he protested but followed them along the pathway as well.

"Well as I was saying, our tribe was fully impressed at hearing your feat at Helheim's gate. We took follow and let dragons in our village as well."

"Really? That's cool. How does it work out for you and the girls?"

"It's dandy. By far the best thing you've ever done. I would have sailed over and congratulated you if that old coot wouldn't have forbade me to step foot on the isle."

She was referring to Stoick.

"Fishlegs, we're having a feast tonight to welcome the Bog's Chieftress back. You and Ruffnut are welcome to join." Hiccup changed the subject, not wanting to hear any more ill words towards his father, though she was still holding the grudge and he couldn't force her to let it go.

"Ah, Ruff is…indisposed."

"Who is _Ruff_?"

They looked to Camicazi who wore a curious frown.

"Ruffnut—Tuffnut's twin sister."

"He had a sister?"

"You pay the worst attention."

She looked at them suspiciously, "I can't help if my memory is a bit rusty. I haven't seen this place in over ten years."

Fair point.

A shadow fell over them followed by a flittering chirp. Hiccup looked up and saw a lithe and long golden dragon. One he'd never seen before. He and Fishlegs glanced at each other in wonder. The dragon glided to a land right in front of them.

"Stormfly! Oh hey there girl," Camicazi stepped forward and brushed a hand across the glittery golden scales. "I didn't think you'd find me here."

"You know this dragon?" Hiccup asked alarmed.

"What kind _is _it?"

He could hear his friend positively drool at the prospect of updating the Dragon Manual…again.

"I don't know. I just call her type a _mood dragon_. I've never seen any others."

"Nor have I but that species name is weird, Miss-silly-namer-of-dragons," Fishlegs dismissed it with disapproval. Camicazi gave an eye roll.

It was true, this species wasn't a common one that was seen during old raids or even locally. She had a long neck and seemed a very graceful creature.

"Don't mind Fishgrumps, pretty girl," Camicazi soothed the look of ire that the dragon held toward the burly blond viking. The dragon eyed Hiccup and trilled, leaning her neck closer.

"She's _your_ dragon?" Hiccup was still trying to understand the relationship between the beast and the girl he once knew, backing slowly away at the fire-beasts advance.

"I'm sure she is mine just as much as your dragon is _yours_. We don't really _own_ them, it's quite impossible. Get back you flirtress!" She batted at the dragon that was edging closer to the Chief and then inspected the dragon's mouth, for it was holding something—a dead rabbit.

Hiccup understood her point and he agreed._ 'Pet'_ was a term of one endeared, not an object of ownership.

"Stormfly! Did you steal this from my longship?"

The dragon gave an instant swish-shake of her head. Then something happened.

"Uh…wasn't that dragon just a gold color?" Fishlegs asked, poking Hiccup in the shoulder repeatedly wanting the Chief to confirm that he wasn't the only one seeing things.

"Yeah…" Hiccup found himself staring at a now violet hue of dragon hide on the mood dragon.

_Oh. Now it makes sense_.

"Liar-face!" Camicazi snatched the rabbit out of the dragon's mouth.

"So how long did it take you to train her?"

"She's not _trained_. She's a mooch and a pathological liar," Camicazi stuck out her tongue to Stormfly and turned on them all, "I should get this to your hall for the feast—oh. So _this_ is a Night Fury?"

Hiccup heard the inquisitive roar of Toothless from not far behind him and turned to see the dragon snuffing around Camicazi curiously.

She must have heard everything concerning the Battle of the Green Death. Most every Viking tribe in the Archipelago knew the Chief of Berk rode a Night Fury.

"Oh my Gods it is cuuuttteeeee," she burbled and abruptly reached out. Toothless's ears flattened back in apprehension at her brash noise and advance but she was soon scratching him and Hiccup could see his dragon ease up and close his eyes pleasantly. Toothless was a friend of anyone who gave him scratches. "These are the hardest kind to see, they only seem to come out at night—well back in the days of raiding. Haven't seen any since. Oh you are seriously adorable you are—"

She looked at Hiccup for a name.

"Toothless," Hiccup coughed.

She examined his mouth, "Now _that_ is a silly name. Look at all those teeth!"

"They retract when he bolts fire."

"Awesome," she turned a wry grin on the men and kept at the dragon-scratchings.

Though, through it all Toothless seemed to catch a scent with a flare of nostrils and one of his eyes opened and caught sight of the strange new dragon. The eye that had started out as a slit, widened enormously and suddenly scratches seemed like the least important thing of the moment.

Hiccup frowned at his dragon's weird reaction to the new or rare dragon species.

"Hey!" Camicazi protested as Toothless yanked the dead rabbit out of her hand and trotted toward Stromfly. He let the corpse off in front of her and made a whining sound.

The Mood Dragon cocked her head and then reached out and touched her nose to the Night Fury in greeting.

Toothless seemed to freeze as though his off-spot had been pushed—the place under his neck that rendered him a puddle of dragon if pressed—except he just sat there completely still with wide-eyes forked tongue lolled out of one of those dopey smiles he always tried to imitate of Hiccup's.

Stromfly chattered and picked up the dead rabbit before taking flight, now with a pinkish color washed into her scales.

"What just happened?" Hiccup asked.

Camicazi shrugged, "I think he likes her, but she used him to get my dead rabbit back. I've never seen her go pink before."

Hiccup poked Toothless in concern. The dragon was breathing at least. So he shrugged, figuring the fugue would wear off the semi-catatonic Night Fury.

_Mood Dragons_. Interesting. Fishlegs would so study Stromfly if given the chance.

"So," Hiccup clasped his hands together and rubbed them, "I really would like to know this news you have to tell me."

_Business as always._

"Oh all right. I guess now is just as well. Follow me," she swung her arm in a _come-along_ gesture.

"So you're Chief, I'm Chieftress, and Fishlegs is getting_ fish_—anything else new around here?"

"Uhm, Fishlegs's wife is with child?" Hiccup mentioned though it had been nearly six months in and the news was kind of old.

"Ruffnut right?"

Fishlegs nodded with a shy smile.

"Congrats."

"What about you? You have a man?"

"_Psh_, I don't _need_ a man."

_Woman tribes._

"I heard Thuggory was still in the market for a wife," Hiccup grinned, baiting her.

"Thuggory can go eat a potato," she grunted and crossed her arms.

He was the son of another fellow village Chief in the archipelago. He had attended Hiccup's wedding and there confided to Hiccup he was still looking for a suitable wife_. Nothing but the best for Thuggory,_ Hiccup thought dryly, reminded of the man's brilliant silver Monstrous Nightmare. His village had also followed suit and made friendly with former fire-beast enemies.

They were walking down the platforms adhered to the cliff face, back toward her longship. It was fine, the breeze picked up and they all could see clearly the sea straight to the horizon. At the bottom docks Fishlegs broke off their wandering party to purchase a basket of fish.

"So, news?" Hiccup raised his brows expectantly. He needed to be home soon, to tell Astrid of the feast. Maybe they could even bring his son Svenan. Camicazi would like Svenan and no doubt greet the toddler the same way she had greeted Toothless.

She cleared her throat, "The good the bad or the ugly news first?"

He didn't feel like hearing any bad or ugly news.

"Good."

"Alright, I came to personally tell you the Bog Isle will formally maintain its alliance with Berk. I know a lot of tribes have withdrawn since the Southern Islands."

It was true, and the reminder caused him to sigh. Though it was _good_ he had her support. He couldn't be thankful enough for it.

She stepped onto her longship with a huge disheartened sigh, he could tell the bad news was coming—"Alvin is up to his tricks again."

Hiccup physically jerked at the mention of Alvin. Alvin the Treacherous.

The one man who Hiccup wished he could just erase from existence. He had gotten close to it by trying to forget but it all came rushing back. That man, that horrible man who was obsessed with trying to kill the russet-haired Viking since he was just a kid. _Who_ did that?

It was all about taking power with Alvin.

"What do you mean? What did he do?"

"He stopped by my village a few weeks back. Not disguised, not obvious in his deceit like we have ever known—he beseeched me to talk to you on his behalf."

Word had obviously gotten to Alvin Hiccup kept company of a Night Fury. _The coward_.

Hiccup frowned, "About what?"

"He didn't say, but he wants an audience with you."

Hiccup mulled about in his head. It would have been in Hiccup's best interest to deny any sort of face-to-face with Alvin for in all likelihood, an attempt would be made on his life. Though a small part of him hoped that maybe the whispers of tolerance and change had also reached his arch-enemy's ears. Perhaps—just maybe things were different now.

"I'll think about it," Hiccup answered, Oh Odin he would—the thoughts of Alvin plagued him now that they were dug up from their years of being buried. "So what's the ugly news?"

She picked up a pendant and a large shield that were set against the back of the longboat.

"There was a bad accident on the shores of my island a few weeks ago. It was a snjekka and all aboard perished or so we found. I don't know which port it originated from but these items were found."

She held out the pendant and the bronze was clearly carved with Berk's clan symbol. He had to think about this—no ships of his men had left and not returned recently. He glanced at the shield and it struck familiar.

"Oh." He sucked in a deep breath, the image hitting his memory. He was seventeen and Ruffnut had been crying and he tried focusing on polishing that shield. It was Ivan the Invincible's shield—the father of the twins. But that man had been long dead.

"Odin, Tuffnut," he drew his hand to his brow in a frown of loss—remembering he had let Tuffnut take off nearly two years ago in place of Astrid's brother to scout land and be a possible envoy to Berk if he came across new villages.

"I'm sorry," Camicazi spoke quietly, it was rare.

She never liked Tuffnut when they were children, but still it was a life lost to Berk.

Hiccup took the shield and thanked Camicazi for bringing it to his attention, and for all her support. He himself giving her a hug which felt good for she was a friend, and even though they hadn't seen or spoken to each other in years she treated him like she had only just seen him yesterday. She was a true friend until the end .

Now he had to tell the widow Thorston about Tuffnut, and nothing was so heavy in his heart knowing the sadness he would bring to the woman.

But that was the job of the Chief, and no one else should have to do it.

"Hey, chin up. We have a feast tonight remember?" he felt her fingers touch just under his chin. Her smile was infectious as he felt the corners of his mouth lift slightly despite all the bad news and pressing matters. Then she was off, with a slight skip in her walk—aiming to return to the Mead Hall, or village center, or wherever it was that Camicaze went to—wherever the wind took her it seemed. The wind had finally brought her back to Berk now that she was allowed there. In all honesty he was glad she was around once more.

He didn't follow for awhile, just took a private moment and sat on one of the chests held on the ship and mulled over thoughts. Of Alvin, Tuffnut, Camicazi, and all the rest of those people who had suddenly showed back into his mind that day.

His thoughts were broken though, at one loud roar, unmistakable for his father's. It was probably the roar of discontent knowing Camicazi was back in town and Stoick couldn't do anything to make her go away this time.

It was then he realized that even though he kept himself busy, all his choices and endeavors had never been a waste of time. He picked himself up and dashed toward the village center so he could prevent any other undesirable situation, after all he was Chief and that was his business.

* * *

**A/N: **So—for those of you who know—this was chock full of book tidbits. I basically went into this thinking of a way to bring back threads of book stuff and tie it to cannon and this after-verse I created. So I hope it was believable, acceptable etc. Thanks to all those in the forum who answered my questions about the books :)

P.S. If you haven't been to DA lately, I just tore it up the past week with tons of HTTYD art :D


	8. A Feast not to Forget

It turned out Camicazi knew how to throw a _party_. By nightfall the air that wafted from the Mead hall was filled with a myriad of delicious scents and an irrevocable energy. Fruits, meat, and grains that were cooked into the feast made by the Bogswomen were eagerly devoured with appreciative gobbles and belches from those hearty Viking men of Berk. Anyone could see that the men of Berk truly appreciated the cluster of wild Viking women as well.

Their Chieftress had brought entertainers—musicians, and more importantly barrels of sweet mead from the honey hives of the Bog Isle. They had set up a long table at the back of the hall where the Chief of Berk, she, and all his favorites looked upon the invited villagers who ate and danced and drank to their heart's content.

Astrid wasn't sure if she enjoyed the atmosphere as she kept a watchful eye on the woman sitting on the other side of her husband. She had never met Camicazi face to face before, but the woman's reputation preceded her and Astrid already had reservations before sticking out her hand to have shaken in greeting.

Hiccup had introduced her and Svenan the younger upon arrival.

Camicazi had nearly squealed in delight before forgoing the handshake and clasping Astrid tight against her as if they were sudden confidants.

"_Hiccup has chosen well."_

Those words were what Camicazi had said immediately after the embrace and Astrid was flattered but at the same time completely baffled for how could this woman she had never met had known Hiccup had '_chosen well'_—she knew _nothing_ about Astrid and hadn't seen Hiccup in a decade at least.

Then, the woman's mind seemed to fill with butterflies, fluttering in a frenzy trapped in the empty space where her brain was supposed to be. She gave a final, quick wave and then was distracted with the next to arrive to the Mead Hall, seeming eager to know everyone.

But Astrid failed to see how it would make a difference if she didn't even bother to remember them.

Her husband and Camicazi were laughing together most of the feast. She heard bits and pieces of their childhood which was causing them such laughter or fond memories. A childhood she was not part of because she had been practicing fight moves and child's sparring with Snotlout at that age. Then, Hiccup had been nothing but a scrawny fishbone-of-a-boy who only seemed to cause everyone around him trouble.

If Camicazi knew nothing about Astrid to say he had '_chosen well_', it was only to be concluded she knew everything about Hiccup, which slightly threatened the Missus Haddock. That or she knew nothing and was saying insincere words which was just as irksome.

Snotlout and Brynna were also in attendance but thankfully at the other end of the table. Snotlout had been drinking a never-ending supply of Mead. Brynna wasn't drinking as she was with child yet again. Their first born, _Brig_ had been brought to the feast and she was somewhere in the hall playing with Svenan. Astrid had been so focused on the two next to her that she hadn't kept track of Svenan. She scanned hall to make sure he wasn't toddling underfoot of any dancers. He wasn't there, so at least she knew he wasn't being tromped on.

She poked at her roasted lamb, most of it had been eaten yet it was too soon to dance so the only viable option was to make conversation. She looked to Stoick, who sat beside her, who also had a suspicious look directed at the Chieftress of the Bog Isle. It was no secret the former chief despised Camicazi. He was less than pleased she had returned and even more that his son had allowed it.

"So, father, some party right?' Astrid asked him to make the needed conversation.

"Oh 'tis a fine party, but would be finer without its guest of honor."

He was so surly about it that she had to bite back a smile. There was a hint of agreement in it as well and Stoick saw this, chuckling. She felt she had a lot more in common with him than Hiccup ever had. They had made a quick friendship after the wedding.

She felt a tug on her skirt and looked under the table to see her son smiling mischievously.

"Mama!"

"So that's where you've been hiding," she smiled and took his hand, picking him up and set him on her lap. She spied Brigid under the table as well—the girl was fast asleep and curled up at her mother's feet, laying the extra long folds of the woman's dress.

"Are you not tired yet my son?" she smiled and kissed his forehead, smoothing his locks of hair from his eyes. Stoick brightened immediately at seeing his grandson and held out his arms, gesturing he would like to hold the boy.

Astrid happily let him to his grandfather. The child grabbed the threads of silvery-russet beard and giggled.

She gave a smile to the pair and then gave another look to the two leaders. Camicazi was pretty—she was a wild woman and Hiccup had once told Astrid she could sword fight like no other. Astrid was willing to bet Little-Miss-Empty faltered when it came to throwing a battle axe. Upon a loud pop of a giggle from the lady in question, Astrid had the strong urge to spar.

She took Svenan back so he'd stop yanking on Stoick's beard. She stood and leaned over Hiccup's shoulder, "Enjoying yourself?"

He was in the middle of chuckling and threw his head back with a broad smile, and Astrid inwardly seethed, knowing she wanted to be the _only_ woman who ever made him smile like so.

"I'm having a perfectly wonderful time, and yourself?"

Astrid opened her mouth to reply but a piercing shriek of glee interrupted her thoughts.

"Oh my, your son is the cutest!"

Astrid turned an eye at the woman and felt it twitch ever so lightly. Now she noticed—_now_ she cared to learn about Hiccup's family when she had so quickly dismissed them before?

"May I?" she smiled and held out her arms.

Astrid reluctantly let Svenan over to her but only did so because their table was watching and she didn't want her obvious loathing to be witnessed.

"What is this doll's name? I could just put him in my pocket and take him home with me!" Camicazi was not beyond using hyperbole in her playful threat. Astrid knew that if the woman even tried to run off with Svenan the younger she'd have an axe through her skull before making it five steps.

"His name is Svenan."

_Which you were told already, sow._

"Svenan? Svenan! Oh Svenan," Camicazi gave a delighted smile and shifted the toddler in her arms then did a twirl with him, holding his hand as if they were dancing. "I know a Svenan. Such a handsome man, the only man that made me think marriage wouldn't be so bad."

The tone was casual and of the most joy.

But there became a silence around them at her words.

Astrid felt her body go rigid.

"Ah—uh what 'Svenan' was that?" Hiccup asked nervously, possibly to cut tension but Astrid saw him take note of her sudden dangerous look, knowing he'd made it quite possibly worse.

If Camicazi were to confirm that—no, Svenan was a fairly common name, still her muscles wouldn't relax and kept on their edge.

"Hofferson. I do believe he is from Berk actually. He came to the Bog Isle about five years ago and he mentioned his home. That man's voice was like honey, and I practically hung on his every word," Camicazi explained without taking any notice to the chilly and silent air around her. She lifted Svenan the younger into the air with a big smile while making a '_whoosh_' sound at him and the boy giggled.

Astrid's heart froze. Did this woman have no care of her words? Did she even know that Svenan was gone? Did she even know he was Astrid's blood? Of course not, because she never _paid attention._

"Oh um, yes. Astrid's brother," Hiccup mumbled and his wife gave him another look.

"Oh so you're a Hofferson? How _is_ your brother doing?"

There was a tone in her that indicated Svenan had even charmed her, a caliber of wild woman who dismissed most men. Astrid, on some lower level was even impressed.  
Everyone in the vicinity seemed to be listening now, and waiting for her response. Instead of answering she held out her hands for the return of her son wanting to hug him close for comfort.

Camicazi handed him over easily, still cheery and waiting for an answer.

Finally, after what seemed too long of moments between conversation, she gave it, "Svenan is—dead."

Couldn't she realize he was gone if at all, by any indication that they had named their son after him?

She cast a dark look to other end of the table towards Snotlout and Brynna and they surely noticed because they averted their stares.

For the first time that night and maybe all day, Camicazi's smile was lost to the world. Astrid was filled with too much loss to even enjoy the fade. The Chieftress had held her breath and let it out slowly after a moment, "I'm sorry. He was a rather remarkable man."

Apparently the word of Svenan's treachery was unique to Berk and Berk only, to let the rest of the tribes continue to think the Celtics had no forewarning of the raid. Even if Camicazi did know, she seemed too enchanted by the memory of him to care.

Astrid couldn't bear this. She clutched her son tight to her waist and she made way to leave the hall.

"My heart!" Hiccup cried, fumbling upward and going after her. He always called her that, she was his _hear_t and she knew he thought of her as his own happiness, but how could his happiness make him happy if she was not happy?

She stopped.

Svenan had wrapped his little fingers up in a loose piece of her hair and she set her chin atop the child's head. He was soft and comfortable—he was her son that was so named after the brother she had lost.

"Don't leave."

"I've lost the will to celebrate if I even had it in the first place, because there really is nothing to celebrate—just an excuse for everyone to drink and throw inhibitions to the wind."  
Hiccup deflected her snide comment, "Get some mead, it will relax you—I still want to dance with you now that we're done feasting—just—please, don't walk out."

"I'm sure you can have _Camicazi_ dance with you," She bit, now if he was smart he would know what had been bugging her. If he were smarter he would know that if he even so much considered her suggestion a serious one he would not be sharing their bed that night. Svenan gave a tremendous yawn, "Besides, our son needs to be put to sleep"

"I'll do it."

She raised a brow, for what kind of Chief left in the middle of a high profile celebration? It made much more sense for her to leave.

"No really, I'll do it. Brigid has conked out so I'm escorting her and Brynna home as well. I can drop Svenan to cradle on my way back."

"Why can't Snotlout escort Brynna? _He's _her husband, not _you_!"

"He's already too merry on mead to walk straight much less take his family home. I offered to as I'm the Chief. I protect my family as well as my people. Please Astrid—please return and enjoy yourself?"

She sighed and let Svenan the younger into his father's arms. He gave her a quick kiss on her lips, "I'll be back soon. I love you."

She didn't even look at Brynna as the woman joined behind Hiccup. She had a sleeping Brig in her arms, the girl's curly hair all over and hiding her face as she set along her mother's belly. Though not looking her fully, she could glance at Brynna's inflated mid-section and wonder if she and Hiccup would ever have another child. Everyone was pregnant at the moment except her and she really couldn't say if she felt good or bad about the fact.

She returned to her spot at the feast table and felt more alone than ever. Her husband and her son were away. Stoick had fallen asleep to peacefully digest all the turkey legs he had consumed, despite the noise and music. Her father in law was an unintentionally hilarious person.

So who else was there? There was Snotlout, who she rather didn't want to converse with at all and if even if she did he wouldn't comprehend and only communicate back with slurry words and possible drunken leers.

Ruffnut was with child and absent from the celebration, which made Astrid take back her wish of Ruff being served a pregnancy to know what it was like. It just wasn't convenient. Fishlegs was at home making sure Ruffnut stayed there most likely. If Ruff knew there was a party, she'd be possibly trying to sneak out, swollen belly and all just to join in on the fun.

Tuffnut was...dead.

Hiccup had only broken the news hours before and Astrid still could hardly believe that was truth but it made sense. Tuff had been gone for nearly two years with no communication or so Astrid knew of. His shield was found in wreckage debris and all evidence pointed to the once boastful youth's demise.

Astrid's chin fell into the palm of her hand and she sighed.

Then there was Camicazi.

A woman Astrid really had no desire to know and that so far, had rope-walked her way to Astrid's last nerve.

But she was the only suitable one in the vicinity to break Astrid's silence and it seemed they both knew it.

"Astrid!"

She nearly jumped at Camicazi's shout of joy—most of all the fact that the woman remembered her name. It was as if the previous moments never happened. Did she just forget about things once they occurred? Or was she merely talented at ignoring them and moving onto the next sequence of events? All to keep in a bright and cheery mood no doubt, she did not dwell on the sad.

"What?"

"Have some mead!" She flicked her fingers sharply and one of her clanswoman arrived with a jug of mead and poured it into the mug before Astrid. Camicazi swiped it up and held it out.

Astrid did like mead but still apprehensively took it. She did not trust the Chieftress.

Camicazi had her own cup and smacked it against Astrid's in a toasting motion.

Some splattered past the rim of Astrid's mug and onto the sleeve of her garment. She wiped at it with a distasteful look.

"To US!" Camicazi toasted and threw back the swig. She drank Mead like it was common ale. Did this woman have no finesse?

"I hear you're substantial at swordplay," Astrid said, with a raised brow—perhaps baiting the woman, against her better judgment.

Camicazi returned the look and set down her mug, squishing her face into laugh, "_Substantial?_"

"So I hear," Astrid shrugged and took another drink. There was a reason she didn't drink often, and she knew the reason would rear its silly head soon.

They were poured another serving.

"You've been listening to the wrong people my dear lady," Camicazi continued and Astrid noted her relaxed smile, unfocused eyes and knew the woman was lacking in sharpness more than usual.

"Care to show me how wrong they were?" Astrid found herself saying, not being able to pass the chance to spar with Camicazi and make her the fool.

"I will gladly re-inform you," Camicazi smirked, set down her cup and at once stood without a hint of dizziness.

She calmly removed the lining of fur at her neck and pulled back her long wild hair though she had nothing to tie it with. Seemingly, just to get it out of her face. A short sword hung at her waist, sheathed within her belt. Astrid did not have her Axe but the Mead hall was conveniently adorned in the weapons of past chiefs and of elite clansmen that hadn't been able to fit with their burials. Astrid pulled a sword from its place on the back wall. The blade was dull. She was willing to bet Camicazi's was at its sharpest.

"Aren't dull blades more suited for sparring?"

"My dear, I shall not leave so much as a scratch on you."

Astrid severely doubted that. An intoxicated woman wielding a sharp sword was a very bad idea. She would have backed out if not for her pride. She had started it and now she had to finish it or else be shamed. The villagers in the hall curiously began to wander over as the two blondes began to hit and strike blades together. At once Astrid realized she had underestimated the amount of alcohol in Camicazi, she either had near to none in her or she could wield a sword as drunk as a lush. Her movements were not only slick and speedy, but also graceful. It took all Astrid's concentration to block so she could never strike at the woman herself.

It was a sight—the Chieftress and the Chief's wife going at it. The will of victory in both pairs of eyes regarding each other and watching their opponent's moves. Camicazi's hair went wild, threading in all sorts of directions around her shoulders with every jerk and lunge. Astrid decided she needed more practice with swordplay. She had been one of the best in training but it was clearly true Camicazi was a master.

Astrid dropped her sword, fell into a tumble and grabbed an axe off the display on the wall, baffling her opponent long enough she could charge with her axe, not that she would slice the Chieftress into two but to prove she had the upper hand with that particular weapon. Axes and Astrid went together as naturally as the stars in the sky.

Camicazi fell back.

Astrid swung the axe but halted it abruptly, the axe blade just nearly brushing Camicazi's exposed shoulder—because any further and there would be spilled blood. But that wasn't the only reason.

There was a pointed blade of a dagger's edge actually touching her cheek, Camicazi had dropped her sword and brought it out from her bootleg in those moments and they had each other in a lock. But, it was only sparring, after all.

Astrid was wearing a masked frown of concentration but Camicazi's intense stare lifted into an impressed grin, "Yes, Hiccup has chosen well."

"WHAT do you mean by that?" Astrid removed the axe and took a few breaths from the activity. She really needed more practice.

Camicazi picked herself up from her defensive position.

"He needs a lady who can watch out for him and now that I think of it, I do believe you are the _Astrid_, Svenan talked of that could handle axes so well. You're a brave lady Astrid Hofferson, and you never forget it."

Astrid dropped the axe entirely. She never expected Camicazi of all people to say words that would touch her so deeply. There was something nice about being called by her maiden name too. Wild Women must not have acknowledged anything else.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it," she picked up her sword and sheathed it, brushing her hair back just after, "We need some more drinks."

Astrid agreed fully.

Hiccup did return, apparently he had trouble getting Svenan to tucker down but when he came back he saw them cheery, toasting and nearly falling into each other by laughing so hard.

"I see you two finally hit it off," he noted, taking a seat next to them.

Astrid popped a giggle and twisted over to him, "You still owe me a dance."

"Of course," he smiled.

"And I want to know more about a _hairy librarian_," she gave a laugh and took his hand, not noticing the bewildered stare he threw at Camicazi that surely hinted he now regretted the two women had ever made so friendly.

* * *

**A/N:** So this I had to put in there, you get Astrid's perceptive of Camicazi which is much more different than Hiccup's tone-wise at least. Hope you liked it :) Also I drew my version of Camicazi, it's on DeviantART for those curious to a visual.


	9. Cold Memories

_It was a bizarre time, like super-mega-weird-bizarre-time. But Snotlout couldn't add any more adjectives to describe the time he was having for he was busy fighting a monster—not a dragon but a hairy sort of creature that looked like a badger. He had caught a badger in one of his hunting traps the day before, badgers were angry little animals. It bit him and it hurt. His hand had throbbed and bled, luckily the creature didn't have any madness to spread and his wife had wrapped it for him. This giant badger thing was ten times as angry. Where was Fireworm? She could coat herself in her own fire and do a rush into the monster and set it aflame. No more monster, no more trouble right?_

_WRONG._

_Turned out giant badger was close buddies with Fenrir, the giant wolf and son of Loki._

_A__**w Crap.**_

_Snotlout stepped back for stability but regained will to conquer. Then Fenrir leaped forward and Snotlout pushed his sword into the god-spawn. Of course it didn't hurt Fenrir. The wolf jaw opened wide and clamped down on Snotlout with one whole chomp, the teeth sinking into his abdomen._

"Agh! Agh! " Snotlout shouted, jolted by the sharp pain. There was only darkness, his heart was thudding against his chest.

_Stupid badger_.

"Shhh, can you fetch me some water?"

He took a breath and grumbled, rubbing his side. _Rock Girl_ had nudged him awake. Though she was not really a _girl _anymore, it was fair to say she was a woman—_his_ woman. She hadn't thrown any rocks at him in awhile either. Maybe he should have considered retiring that initial nickname for her. Snotlout was very fond of his nicknames though.

"Are you okay, are you alright? Why do you need water? Are you sick?"

"No," she sighed with exasperation at his needless worry, "I'm thirsty is all." She turned onto her back and he saw the outline of her stomach clearly—full with his second child.

He had been that way even when she carried their daughter Brigid as well.

He shuffled out of the covers into the cold late-autumn air to find his socks. The floor was too much of a temperature change after having them stuffed under warm quilts for the last few hours.

He turned to Brynna before standing, "Now you are sure you're okay?"

"Yes, just get me some water! I'm fine!" she began to be irritated with him.

"Hey sorry, just making sure—you know Ruffnut—" he began to remind her about the dangers of pregnancy and childbirth but she was well aware and cut him off.

"I am not _Ruffnut._"

Ruffnut had delivered a little girl nearly three months prior but it was common knowledge she didn't handle it well—everyone in the village could hear her screaming during her labor from the bay to the mead hall—it was not an exaggeration.

Snotlout wasn't just an over-worried husband because of that. He made himself sick with how much he nagged Brynna over her terms but he couldn't help it. His own mother had died shortly after giving birth to his sister—his sister who had also perished from the winter sickness when she was seven. He never liked thinking about them, not because he didn't love them—he _had,_ but they were gone and thoughts of them made him him so sad he couldn't bear it. They were the ghosts of his mind.

So it was a valid reason to worry for his own wife who—thankfully had an uncomplicated first delivery but just because she made it once didn't guarantee her a second pass. Though she seemed fine enough now, just agitated more than normal at him whenever he questioned her health.

He made his way downstairs and took a cup, made sure it was clean and filled it with some of the freshwater from the village springs they kept in a barrel near the food.

He took a sip, it was nice and cold still—he had refilled the barrel earlier that day because Brynna was too round to carry such heavy things, she nearly waddled everywhere she walked.

He climbed the stairs to his room and opened the door. Brynna was standing .

"What are you doing? Do you feel—"

"Ask me how I feel and I will throw my cup of water at your head," she snapped in a hiss.

He shut his mouth but then smiled, "You can't if you don't have the cup."

She turned around fully with pressed lips, showing her patience had worn thin. She was holding Brig, the reason she must have roused herself from bed. Brig had woken and was being the fussiest one year old she could be.

She held out one hand for her desired water.

"Promise not to throw it at me?"

"Not if you leave, I'm going to feed her and I don't want you here to ask me every few seconds if I feel alright. Go stoke the fire, it's cold."

She was irritated with him. He gave a heavy sigh and rubbed his eye, knowing it'd be awhile before he'd be able to fall asleep again. At least he wasn't fighting Fenrir and his friend, _big-badger_ anymore. He stretched his fingers out and looked at his bandaged hand.

_Weird dreams_.

He grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it over his shoulders because Brynna had been right, it _was _cold. Snotlout descended the stairs once more and added more wood the fire pit and then poked at it with his sword that had been left in the main room from that day. He had skinned his kills to there was dried blood on the blade.

He had let the badger live, though it scurried off in a limp and now it was somehow subconsciously plaguing him. How Fenrir ended up in the dream he couldn't say, perhaps oversized animals were that nights's motif.

He and Tuffnut had used to hunt all the time together before...

Snotlout frowned inwardly and wrapped the blanket tighter, reminded of what once was. He had known Tuffnut most of his life, in fact Snotlout couldn't stand the kid for most of his young life. Snotlout was a boastful youth, convinced he was the best at everything—he was the strongest and bravest of the children his age and inherited those big bones from his father's side of the family. Tuffnut Thorston was also the bragging kind, naturally one-upping anything that was claimed by other children because he had all his life to banter with his twin sister.

"_Let's climb a tree," Snotlout, even at seven years old was pushing his limits. They stood in front of a pine that towered at least 100 feet. Most trees on Berk consisted of tall coniferous pines and the like. Children sought out a seasonal tree with winding limbs for climbing fun but Snotlout wanted to prove once and for all he was the best._

"_Okay, I can climb trees, I've climbed hundreds," Tuffnut—a year younger—boasted. Snotlout was not impressed by the number, feeling it was an untrue brag._

_So they each grabbed an itchy, pine needle laden branch and began to climb._

"_Let's see who can get to the top first!" Snotlout shouted and the both searched for the best hold and step spots of the tree. The pine branches were scratchy, clawing at their garments and skin but it didn't matter. It was a race. Whoever got there first would be the bravest and fastest and by default the better._

_Snotlout did reach the top first, and he had never looked down once. He'd never climbed so high before, he could see the landscape and rocky crags of the island from his view._

"_I beatcha!" Snotlout called._

"_Only 'cause' my shirt got stuck on some branch," Tuffnut breathed with a likely excuse._

_He met him at the same branch and it with weight._

"_Hey! Woah!" Snotlout shouted and held to the branch tighter, in that moment of unsuitableness he looked dow and his world dizzied extraordinarily. He'd never been that high. If he fell he would surely die. He clutched the branch and closed his eyes. He was actually scared and was too much so to hide it like he normally would._

_His body tensed in an involuntary freeze of sorts, he wouldn't be able to climb down! He'd be stuck up there forever! Clean for a dragon's picking._

"_Wha...how are we gonna get down?"_

"_We climb down," Tuff replied obviously and began to descend the branches._

"_NO! Wait wait wait wait...don't leave!"_

"_But you've won, now can race again. This time I'll make it."_

""_No, why don't we look at the view?"_

_Tuff gave a baffled sort of look to Snotlout, what kid would rather look at boring landscape than try to race up a tree?_

"_Nah, I wanna race again," Tuffnut shook his head, his hair shaggy and fell as long as his lower neck. He was obstinate, just another thing Snotlout couldn't stand. Good maybe Tuffnut __**should**__ leave._

"_I think I can win this time."_

_And he wasn't observant, which also annoyed 'Lout. He was a sore-loser and wanted a re-match just because he'd lost. So maybe Tuffnut really should just leave but then...Snotlout would be stuck up in the tree alone. _

"_Hey! Come back!"_

"_What, why? Why are you still up there? Come down!"_

_And Tuffnut was bossy to boot._

"_NO!"_

"_Why?"_

_Snotlout bit his tongue and frowned._

_Tuffnut seemed to take a minute before connecting the reasons, then he smiled menacingly, "You're afraid of being this high up aren't you?"_

_Then the little snipe started to laugh, adding just another reason for 'Lout not to like the boy._

_He felt weak, he was helpless in a tall tree and a stupid kid he was better than was laughing at __**him**__._

"_Just shut up!" Snotlout barked and felt some moisture gather in his eyes. He couldn't cry, not in front of Tuffnut. He sniffed them back. It was such a long way down and he was so scared._

_Tuffnut's laughter subsided and he got bored with stocky kid's dilemma._

"_Ok, I gotta go tell everyone about this," Tuffnut giggle-snorted and began to climb down._

"_NO! No you don't dare do that!"_

"_Why? You can't do nothing to me if you're stuck there. Besides, how else are you going to get down? Your dad is gonna have to climb up and get you."_

"_No!" wailed Snotlout, already feeling the warmth of embarrassment in his face at having them know he got himself stuck up in the tree 'cause he was afraid of the height._

"_Fine. I won't tell but you gotta say I won the race."_

_Blackmail? Now this scud was using blackmail on Snotlout?_

"_Fine, I'll lie but I hope a Nightmare nips you out of your lodge the next time the dragons raid you sludge-eating scum bucket."_

"_So how are you getting out of the tree?" Tuffnut wondered, not prickled by 'Lout's words as he got such insults and worse everyday from Ruffnut._

"_I don't know!"_

"_Well I always look up when I climb down. Since there's so many branches. I could tell you where to step since I'm below."_

"_Okay that might work," Snotlout shakily agreed and looked up. He heard Tuffnut tell him to take a step directly down and he felt his boot land on another solid branch and a whole level of new relief hit him. He was able to move if he didn't look down, but still the terror was present knowing he was still a long ways up._

_They continued in that manner until their hands were roughed and sticky from the bark and sap, and their skin felt red and itchy from the irritation of the pine needles. _

"_One more step," Tuffnut called and then Snotlout was back on solid ground. He puffed up immediately to regain his act of bravery though no one was there to see it and the only person that was knew the truth._

"_Now we gotta go back and you tell all the others I beat you at the race," Tuffnut insisted._

_Snotlout felt a child's tantrum build in him at the thought of everyone thinking Tuff was a faster climber than he. Though he thought about it and at any point Tuff could have lied and caused Snotlout to miss a step and fall for his own sick amusement but never had. He'd gotten Snotlout out of the tree which was much more important than winning a stupid race._

"_Alright, but I'll race you back!" Snotlout jumped into a sprint with Tuffnut calling objections from behind and he thought maybe all in all, Tuffnut wasn't so bad._

Eventually Snotlout got over that fear and Tuffnut was the main reason behind it. He had a method to deal with it, and used it whenever he found himself in a high place—even on the Green Death.

Snotlout poked the fire once more, feeling warmed but for the coldness that had clenched at his heart—the same kind that took hold when he thought of his mother or sister.

Tuffnut would now join those ghosts in Snotlout's mind—he who had been his brother in arms, his hunting and fishing partner, his _best friend_.

He glanced at his inner wrist with even more of a sadness. There it was, the tattoo Tuff had inked there by needle when they were fifteen. They had been sneaky because the Widow Thorston would have thrown a big fit if she knew what they were doing. His own father, Spitelout wouldn't have given it much thought, only remind him those kinds of marks distinguished criminals in the port towns and to always hide it if going abroad in the future. Snotlout did Tuffnut's wrist in turn and after all was done they had matching symbols of their clan. It was cool, and made them feel dangerous and epic—they'd boast about stories that would be told about them when they became heroes and somewhere along the way Tuffnut even considered himself the _world's deadliest weapon_.

Snotlout's wrist dropped into his lap and he pulled the cover over his head feeling so bad for Tuff didn't even get the chance to get himself a girl—well—perhaps he had better luck once he visited the other isles and continent. Snotlout hoped so for Tuffnut—and maybe he was in Valhalla now with a Valkyrie on each arm. That would make Tuffnut glow.

"Goodbye, dude," Snotlout mumbled, finally locking Tuffnut's ghost in his mind like all the others, before he got too sad.

Maybe that's why he was so worried about Brynna, because she, his daughter, and his father was all the closeness he had left. Astrid, who had been a good friend, did not associate with him anymore—not since the death of her brother Svenan nearly two years prior. Snotlout regretted his actions in retrospect, because it was mostly by his orders and hands that Svenan had perished. He had beaten the man brutally along with those men he had appointed to search for the traitor. In the end, he remembered going to fetch Sven, to tell him he would be spared by Hiccup but the body of the eldest Hofferson was still and dead in the eyes. It was too late and it was absolutely haunting for even though Svenan had gotten on 'Lout's bad side, he was still someone Snotlout knew and even in the past had friendly, casual conversations with. Svenan had to go with the other ghosts too, but Snotlout couldn't guarantee himself that Svenan's ghost would say locked there due to the circumstances of his death and the cart of guilt associated with it.

He gave a yawn and poked the fire again, then set his sword against the wall. He blew out his candle, leaving the main room engulfed in darkness.

Brynna should have been done feeding Brigid by then.

He threw his borrowed blanket back onto the bed. His wife was occupying the far side again. He took a look into the cradle and saw Brig was back to a slumber. Good. He leaned over the edge and gave his daughter a quick kiss. He had hoped for a son like most men for their first born but Brig was strong, he'd seen her pull toys from Svenan the younger easily when the children were put together to play—he liked having a daughter. He crawled into the covers after that.

"Brynna sucked in a breath.

"Are you okay?"

She kicked him in response, "_Yes._ Your feet are like ice though. Get them off."

"But I have socks on and I was sitting in front of the fire," he replied for they should have been warm but the cold air must have taken all of it away on his trip back to the room. He hated the cold. She cared to to reply to his claim, they were cold to her and she wanted them removed.

He sighed and curled his knees to his broad chest to remove his cold skin from her. But even under the covers, he felt cold. Brynna didn't like being touched when she was with child, especially by him. He'd try to cuddle on her and she'd chide him or react negatively. It was a lonesome nine months for a man who wasn't allowed to touch his wife—or if did would only be shrieked at.

Maybe the men should get together for an ale-support group every week because now they were at the points in their lives where their wives would be vastly unavailable for any romance what with children to care for, chores, and the like.

He laid onto his back.

"Bryn,"

"Mpf, _what_?"

"I think you should let me hold you."

"I think you should go to sleep."

"But I wanna go to sleep _with_ you, not _next_ to you."

"What difference does it make? We're in the same bed."

"You're talking like a bartered bride," he teased her, rolled over and slid his arms around her. He missed her lean figure but also took a special pleasure in the curved surface of her midsection, as his hands felt their way to each other to lock her in between them all night if need be.

"I _am _a bartered bride."

"But you love me," Snotlout insisted.

There was a silence but he wasn't worried, she was just being stubborn.

She seemed reluctant to admit it because she naturally wanted to defy his claims. She always was right. She was the Celtic of noble blood, she was the mother-to-be, she always had to be right. It was the unspoken rule. But he didn't feel like following the rules—just like when he was seven and climbing tall trees.

"And you know how I feel about you."

"Mhm."

He laid his cheek over her shoulder, "It's all love, baby."

He felt her body relax into his and finally she spoke tiredly, "_Tá grá agam duit.__"_

It was in her own tongue but he smiled, because whenever she said it, things we're good. When she said it, that meant she wasn't angry anymore, or it signaled the end of any spat they might have. She never told him him what it meant but he was accustomed to it being a good sign.

He closed his eyes and drifted back to the dream world, happy he could be able to hold her when everyone else seemed to be falling away.

* * *

**A/N:** Finally a look into what's up with Snotlout :)

**P.S**: _Tá grá agam duit _means 'I love you' in Irish._  
_


	10. Unwelcome

**Pre-AN**: If you haven't yet, read "_Roughest Part of Life_" for an Auxiliary Fishlegs/Ruffnut baby story. It happens chronologically before Snotlout's chapter [ch 9], which I forgot to mention it then. I had it written a long time ago and so warranted its long stand-alone status as a one shot.

* * *

Pressures of the job had reared its ugly head once more. Everyone was looking to Hiccup to make things better. The village was beginning to thaw from the ice that winter had left in its wake. It didn't seem to matter how bright the sun shone, the cold was still encompassing.

The winter sickness had struck and taken with it a good number of villagers, among them the leather-tanner, Hoark the Haggard's widow, the tavern-keeper, and even a few of the elders and the young children.

Hiccup couldn't bear to look at the grieving faces of those parents knowing the sickness could have just as easily made its way to Svenan the younger. His heart caught in his throat upon any thought of harm overcoming his beloved son. Astrid had caught the sniffles, a much milder strain of sickness that was rampant in the winter season, and had recovered, thank Odin. Still, it prompted him to keep Svenan at the lodge Hiccup had grown up in under the uncontaminated watch of Hiccup's father. Just in case the sniffles should turn for the worst—he couldn't be too careful with his year and half year old. Any thoughts of his family, including Toothless, coming into harm or sickness fueled the Chief into a sadness he never knew he could have in him.

Though not all was lost in the depressing months of bitter darkness; his cousin's wife had delivered a healthy baby boy they had named _Curran;_ Brynna must have insisted on her tongue's native names for her children. They were unique to say the least, though perhaps too lenient to ward off a gnome with bad intentions.

Ruffnut and her newborn daughter had managed to survive the cold all under Fishlegs's careful watch. Svenan was learning new words every day, and finally recognized the difference between a regular ol' '_dag'n_' and Toothless, the Night Fury himself. Though Svenan didn't call Toothless by his exact name—only pronouncing as much as '_Toohluss'_ and expecting the dragon to come when called, only to be disappointed.

Stoick the vast also procured an identity from his grandson over the season—the eager shout of '_Grampy_' could be heard from the boy at seeing his grandfather. Stoick couldn't have been any more pleased at his title and had spent the time with Svenan to bond.

Then there was 'G_oob'_ or rather Gobber according to the young Haddock son. Astrid and Hiccup would both fail at sustaining their hidden laughter upon hearing young Svenan address the dual-limbed man. Gobber would always correct the child, but the non-subtle laughter from the chief and his wife fueled Svenan to only smile and repeat the name he had said in the first place.

Life it seemed had balanced out, at equilibrium with the new life and the recent deaths. Hiccup's mother had been taken by the sickness when he was only eight years old so he had a particular disdain with his personal history towards it.

He wondered if Camicazi had a fair winter on her isle, also wondering if her village had been struck with winter sickness. He found there was a value in gathering information from the surrounding establishments to better gauge birth and mortality rates of the Vikings—though he'd have to wait until the gaggle of trained Terrors returned to send and receive messages. The system still had flaws but the newest village healer in wound-concentration had developed quite a handy system to send messages across water by way of the small-sized dragons. Fishlegs had helped with development but the accreditation went to Slugwing, a young man with a bright future—expected to take Spitelout's place as the_ wrapper-of-wounds_ with village-folk's lacerations and other scrapes.

Hiccup had attended four funerals that week, and had just finished up with the last of the sickness's victims. The grass was beginning to grow, the bay was open again to incoming and departing ships except for the few ice hunks that were floating around the middle, gradually melting again. It was still cold, the long thaw would be over in a month or two. The dragons would return soon.

Hiccup just hoped it didn't snow again.

He had to mind the docks for awhile because Snotlout was out trying his best to catch some of the fish without aid of his Nightmare. The village was dwindling on food. Hiccup had rationed more than usual that winter which was hard on his wife and son. The harvest from the autumn before was less than desired, if anything the winter sickness preyed upon those who had little nourishment during the winter.

So he was helping in every little way he could. Snotlout was a good fisherman, better than he at least. Hiccup couldn't ever remember having fun fishing; his father forced him to many times as a boy.

So he was the one at the docks taking care of incoming ships that had managed to slice through the ice sheets farther out at sea.

It was a lonesome activity. Usually Toothless would accompany him but the Night Fury was content indoors and had been since the first frost. Hiccup bent his numbed fingers, he couldn't blame the dragon for wanting to stay cuddled up in front of the hearth.

What was more worrisome was that he had work to catch up on in the forge. Gobber couldn't do it all by himself, not anymore. There had been talk of bringing in Gobber's nephew, Rune to help out. Hiccup had to stop and remember how exactly they were related—the lad was about sixteen and the son of Gobber's sister. He was a good lad though, made his own dragon saddles and sold them. Indeed, a talented lad from what Hiccup remembered, maybe it was a good idea to keep Rune around after all.

A ship was spotted in the distance.

The dock market was slow on such a day but still villagers were mulling about and offering what they could afford for the fresh catches of the other fishermen. A lot were old school fishermen, ones who never picked up the dragon technique and kept use of the fishing tricks their forefathers taught them. It didn't render them more fish in comparison with the ones caught by diving dragons but in these thawing months the old school fish-seller reigned supreme and raked in all they could in exchange to buy bread for their families.

Berk had grown in commerce the last few years, in population as well. There were the folks that were rooted with the island, who had been there generations. Then came the wanderers who had heard Berk was a lovely, interesting place despite the nine months of snow and the three of hail. It might have been the charming view of the sunsets that sold those newcomers on settling there. Or their curiosity and fascination with dragons. Though Hiccup knew other islands had integrated dragons into society within the archipelago, and as far as was reported those settlements had seen growth as well.

It was tricky being chief in a place where the natives were suspicious of the newcomers but he firmly believed in acceptance, tolerance—and that was the path to a greater peace.

The ship was getting closer, it had dark red sails, but the emblem of them Hiccup couldn't quite see yet.

"Who's coming?" he heard a voice beside him.

"I'm not sure, one can never simply tell by looking—they look to mean well—perhaps a merchant ship?"

The girl nodded her head with disappointment.

"Why, who are you waiting for Harkin?"

Hiccup knew her mother had recently died, just another unfortunate victim of the winter sickness. He and his father were among those who attended the funeral out of respect and memory for her also deceased father, Hoark the Haggard—one of Stoick's former commanders in the battlefield.

"No one," she said quickly and quietly before turning to leave and he couldn't help but to hear, "there is no one left—"

He saw that it looked like she had managed to buy a whole carp. She was frighteningly skinny—more proof of the bad harvest and it's affects on the village.

Hiccup felt awful for the girl; the lodge she had lived in since was a babe had been possessed by a male relative. The man had ordered Harkin out for she was just another mouth to feed but Hiccup had stepped in and mandated that he keep her under shelter until the cold passed for she had no body fat and would freeze to death if put out on her own at so young. She didn't know he had done that for her but he wasn't going to tell her. It was just his job—to watch out for his village and its people.

The ship was closer now. Harkin was wrapped up in a thin shawl, her hair long and covering her shoulders as she held the dead fish close as if it were something she cared about, as if it was the only thing left to comfort her.

"How is Astrid?" She stopped to wonder.  
"She's better. She had the sniffles for awhile but is up and about and her usual stern self."

He cracked a smile at his sarcasm but Harkin's face remained stone.

Suddenly one of the merchants began shouting, pointing down the dock at them.

Harkin's eyes flew open and she made a dart forward but Hiccup snatched her out of the bolt with a stern frown, "How did you pay for that fish?"

The seller was now stomping towards them both in a rage. He couldn't afford to be stolen from.

Hiccup sighed disappointed and dug through his pocket to find a few peningars.

Before the merchant could accuse her of her crime, Hiccup pushed the payment into the man's hands, "It's taken care of, she _won't_ do it again."

He still had a firm hold of her arm, she was about Rune's age—a junior to Hiccup by nearly five years, and more wiry than he had ever been at that age. Yet she tried to escape, he pulled her back, "Why did you do that, I thought your father raised you well?"

His frown lifted at her sudden tears of which she seemed to fight back but had failed, "I have to feed myself now. I have no money or means for money."

She said it quietly, ashamed.

"You need a job," Hiccup proposed after a quick and unseen moment of sympathy.

"Who would hire me?"

"Well the tavern -keeper has passed this winter, and I'm sure his daughter would be looking for some help tending the joint. Why don't you pay her a visit, see if she wouldn't hire you."

Harkin swallowed her tears with a considering thought. Hiccup hoped she would think about it, for the next time she was caught stealing he wouldn't be so lenient. Theft was serious.

"Thank you Chief," she managed to whisper.

"Chief. Hiccup. The _Useful_?"

Hiccup's blood froze though it wasn't exactly a freezing temperature outside. He let go of Harkin with a nod towards the cliff face, signaling for her to get on and go. The voice was hard, and at the same time like sharp nails dragging across a stone. He glanced upward and spotted the red sails—the longship had finally arrived and docked. With it, the most dreaded of cargo.

It couldn't be. It really couldn't. The owner of the voice had to have been dead.

Yet, Hiccup tested it, his hand slowly moving to the dagger that was kept in his belt. He spoke a voice dry and even, "Alvin."

Camicazi had said he was alive and looking to meet with Berk's chief, but really the man should have been dead—half his body was gone, he was old, and he had been last seen on a bridge, burning under flame. Did the man just always cheat his way from death? Hel was sure to have a bounty on his head by now.

Hiccup turned, anticipating to be killed or attempted to be slain in some way—simple or elaborate—Alvin had never been so close to the russet-haired Viking since the undersea caverns.

Yet, Alvin the Treacherous was simply standing there, the ugliest man known to men—his nasal cavity in view, a patch over one gouged eye, bald, haggard and scarred. His face, was the worst. There was also his prosthetic hand which he gestured toward Hiccup's left leg upon seeing the Chief staring at it.

"I see we have something in common now."

"I'm nothing like you!" Hiccup hissed.

Alvin wasn't alone. There was a man of his same build right behind him—who was watching the skinny girl dash up the wooden planked pathway, back toward the village. It must have taken Alvin years to find another person gullible enough to follow his crazy schemes to destroy Hiccup. He was smart to strike in the cold, for Toothless was not around to tear his innards out at the mere scent of malevolence that seethed from his being.

Except he hadn't struck yet.

"Uh...why aren't you—uh," Hiccup raised a suspicious brow, "trying to kill me?"

Alvin threw back his head to laugh, a hearty laugh that only made Hiccup look to be the fool.

"Kill you? Why would I do that? You are much too important to destroy."

Hiccup felt his jaw drop incredulously, "That's what you've _always_ done."

"No no you silly boy, I'm here to _learn_—learn form the best Viking the Archipelago has ever bred."

"About what?" Hiccup saw past the flattery. Alvin wanted something.

"Dragons."

"Forget it. Get off my island. _Now_."

Hiccup held out his dagger to Alvin, and the man held up his arms in surrender. "I recall someone saying you were the one not to exclude, that you pardoned enemies even made alliances with them. I thought you were the one that has been trying to create peace—is the great and honorable Hiccup I hear so much about really _that_ much of a contradiction?"

The last of his words were of near scorn and Hiccup did not appreciate being insinuated a hypocrite. He was suspicious of Alvin, but it was true—he did yearn for peace, had even hoped that Alvin would hear of the Chief's efforts and take to them; it was nearly a dream come true but yet he couldn't get over the feeling that he was being tricked.

"No need to be worried I will leave on good faith, and I have brought you baskets of grain as I heard your Island didn't have such a great harvest in autumn.

"Did you _poison_ it?"

"How rude! I bear gifts and you—yet you think—?" He seemed rather put off before narrowing his eyes with a patronizing grin, "_How_ does one even poison _grain_?"

Hiccup still didn't trust him, Alvin had been a chef once, and he could have known something Hiccup didn't about food and how to poison it. He didn't reply, only kept his unwelcome scowl.

"Anyhow I will leave my brother here to be taught in the ways of dragon training."

"_Brother_?"

"Oh yes, my mother informed me I had one. Who would have guessed?"

"You're mother lived? How did _you_ even live?" She had been left on the burning bridge as well, she was a crone! She _should _ have been dead.

"I won't bother you with details, but as you know she is a witch—she can do anything."

Hiccup doubted that, but maybe had a better understanding of Alvin's ability to _not _die—it was hereditary.

"I'd like you to meet my brother, Calvin the Lecherous."

Calvin stepped forward and stuck out his hand in greeting. Hiccup apprehensively took it and actually relaxed a bit when Alvin made no moves to yank his dagger away or shank him with his own.

He eyed the brother, still as suspicious but what else could he do? He had made it known his goal was peace and to turn away former enemies outright would be viewed as a contradiction, he didn't want his reputation marred—knowing Alvin would probably go about blabbing it if Hiccup didn't cooperate. Plus if the grain was good, his village could sure use it. Who was he to deny his people food on the basis of bad personal history?

He swallowed his hesitation and against his better judgment nodded, "Very well."

"I've heard a lot about you," Calvin the Lecherous gushed, but it was obvious he was sucking up to gain favor in the way Alvin did—though Calvin was much better at sounding sincere.

"I'll bet," Hiccup shot a dark look toward Alvin who was unloading his barrels and baskets of grain with his one good arm. They were probably stolen if not poisoned. Nothing but the most treacherous involving Alvin.

Calvin at least had all of his parts, wasn't even scarred. Yet there was something unsettling about the man Hiccup couldn't put his finger on, but it could have been a born bias from the fact that Calvin shared a string of genetic similarity with the nemesis of his childhood.

Alvin offered to carry the grain up to the mead hall but Hiccup declined. "So all you would like in exchange is to know the aspects of dragon training?"

"Simply."

"Why?" Hiccup raised a brow.

Alvin put his hand over his heart in which he meant to be true but Hiccup couldn't fathom the sincerity by the gesture, "I was moved by what I heard. I spent the last fifteen years hating you for what you did to me—"

Hiccup wanted to object that he never purposely meant to abandon Alvin to wander the sea caves, or all the mishaps that led to missing body parts. He also wanted to point out that Alvin also had wanted power the last fifteen years, only another motive behind trying to destroy the newest Chief. Though now Alvin was too late, Hiccup had an heir and would do anything to protect him.

"But nonetheless! I agree we can find peace...just like you did with those dirty Celts. I even heard you were engaged to one. What happened with that?"

"Politics," Hiccup answered simply, not elaborating—wondering where Alvin was getting his information in the first place and how much.

"Very well then—farewell, I will return in a few weeks to check up on Calvin and the process. I expect you'll treat him fairly despite our rocky history for he has done nothing to invoke your wrath. Good luck!"

Hiccup could promise to treat Calvin fairly but also could promise he would scrutinize the Hel out of the brother's every move.

Hiccup didn't know if Alvin's _good luck_ was addressed to himself or Calvin but either way he didn't like it. That feeling still had hold of him, like he had let a wildcat into a bird's nest. Calvin looked harmless at the moment, whistling as he hauled the gifted grain on his shoulders, waiting for Hiccup to take the lead. He was younger than Alvin, looked to be younger than even Stoick—but still appeared to be years older than Hiccup.

He scanned the horizon for any other ships while he waited for Alvin's to depart—he wanted to make sure the man was good an gone before he turned his back.

"Well I suppose we should find you a place to stay," he lifted his own weight of grain onto his back and started up the plank-way once Alvin was good and gone.

"That would be much appreciated," Calvin replied.

Calvin was polite, which impressed the Chief—though still caused suspicion to surround the Treacherous's brother.

"Though I don't know how long until the dragons return. Hopefully a few early migrators will come back in the next few days and I can start showing you the ways of dragon training."

Again, Calvin thanked him. They neared the village and Calvin's eyes immediately latched onto the Viking ladies wandering toward market in hopes of securing a deal on any edibles.

"So how did you find out that you were brothers?"

"Alvin found me one day. He told me he was my brother and that his mother told him. I was adopted and lived on a small island in the Sullen Sea. We grew grain and I had never imagined ever leaving.

"You married?"

"No sir."

Hiccup gave a shrug, "So is this grain from your island?"

"Yes sir, we had more than enough and so Alvin thought to gift it to you since we heard Berk had the worst growing season since one could remember."

"Yeah, the frost came pretty early," Hiccup grumbled. He would usually enjoy winter to an extent, especially since he had wed for he could stay curled next to Astrid on those cold mornings, but even this year he couldn't enjoy that perk because she was shivery and full of sniffles. He slept in the main room, away from her so he wouldn't become infected.

"Where did you get this information from anyway? Gossips?"

Calvin paused to think, "A short woman, she was very pretty but I wasn't allowed to touch her."

_That is vague, I bet most woman wouldn't him to touch them_.

"She was a sassy thing—she commands the village of the Bog Isle."

_Leave it to Cami to blab everything_,Hiccup thought sourly. He had told her harvest was not going as well upon her visit—he thought she'd keep it to herself. Alvin must have gone back to her to check-up on Hiccup's pending decision to grant him an audience and took '_I'll think about it_' as '_Why sure! Come on over!'_

"So what sort of dragons are you used to?" He switched his train of thought—what happened had happened and he'd have to do his best to roll with it.

"We hardly were ever raided since we lived off grain but there were Doomfangs in the waters we had to watch out for when we went fishing. But I've seen Deadly Nadders and Terrible Terrors fly by in flocks."

"We'll use a Nadder then to start you off with when the dragons return."

"Where do they go then in the winter?"

"Their nest in Helheim's Gate."

Calvin gave a low whistle, probably because of the location. No one entered that soupy haze unless necessary.

Hiccup had to think of where to stash Calvin for his stay. There was no room at his own lodge, and he doubted he would put Calvin up there anyway just because of the inherent suspicion. His father had room, and he knew the Widow Thorston had at least two rooms available since Ruffnut had made her own home with Fishlegs and Tuffnut had assumedly passed to the realm of the dead.

However, those glances Calvin was throwing at the females they passed caused Hiccup to subconsciously make the decision to ask Stoick take the man in as a charge.

They brought the grain to the Mead Hall and set the baskets and barrels down against the outer-wooden containment of the fire pit.

"What is all that?"

Hiccup looked to a girl that had approached curiously, yet another of the village youth about five years younger—which only reminded him how old he had become—doing this _Chief_ thing and always having matters to deal with.

He knew her as _Ireth_, and apparently she had seen them carry in the bundles.

"It's grain. What are you doing in here all by yourself?" He wondered because Ireth lived with the village elder since her father was out at sea and her mother was deceased. Why come to the drafty Mead Hall when one had a perfectly warm home?

"I was taking inventory on my dried herbs, I can't do it at home because all of the Terrible Terrors—they try eating them. I didn't pick enough last summer—" she ended in a mumble with a slight blush of shame. Hiccup wasn't one to judge though; there wasn't enough of anything around Berk anymore! Unfortunately for Ireth, Toothless wasn't the only dragon that stayed in Berk during winter, all the Elder's Terrors stayed too—but _only_ hers.

He knew Ireth liked to help people, to ail people and so he caught his breath from all the uphill carrying and asked, "Do you mind staying here and distributing grain? I will have the word spread that we have enough now. When they come, tell everyone each household is allowed—" he eyed the amount with hesitation, "three bowls."

Ireth nodded, "Of course!"

"Thank you," Hiccup nodded and gestured Calvin away quickly, ignoring that lecherous look about him.

They emerged back into the cold and Hiccup grabbed the arm of a villager and told him to spread the word to all he could that Berk had grain for bread and other food now. A renewed spark of hope renewed in the villager's eyes and he went off to do just that.

Hiccup felt a little better about the grain, maybe Alvin had changed—it was downright benevolent to gift a struggling village what they had lacked in harvest.

The two men found themselves in front of the elder Haddock's lodge, and Hiccup entered whilst giving the door a few knocks to warn his father of his arrival.

Stoick was sitting by the hearth and sharpening a blade with granite stone and smiled at hearing Hiccup's foot-steps—the lightest footing on a man Stoick had described it as. He always said if Hiccup weren't so bumbling he would have made an excellent sneak.

"Ah! My son!" Stoick greeted and then regarded Calvin—the obvious stranger—with one raised brow.

"Father, this man has come to the isle in hopes to know how to train a dragon—as of now he has no place to stay so I was wondering if he could take my old room?"

"But son, I have no food for an extra mouth," Stoick frowned.

"That is taken care of, he has also brought enough grain to satiate the hunger we all have been feeling. I'm sure master Ingerman will have trays of bread lined up at your door once you order them."

Stoick was happy indeed to hear such news and welcomed Calvin in gladly. Hiccup did not tell the truth however, leaving Alvin's name unmentioned. Stoick knew the trouble Alvin had always caused and might have felt the same suspicion towards Calvin as Hiccup did. However, Hiccup took that burden of truth upon himself. Calvin was his responsibility now. Besides, how bad could this polite, clean, modest, man be?

* * *

**Post A/N**: sorry for all the _A/N-ing_ but this chapter has a lot of thanks in order, which was why it took awhile to get posted. As you can see it is infused! [in more ways than one!]

*I posted a chapter entitled '_Perfect_' [about the birth of Svenan the younger] since the posting of Snotlout's chapter, but I moved it back to 4th chapter to be in chronological order so anyone who got the email that said there was a new chapter or checked up seeing this had been bumped to the top of the page - it took you to Snotlout's chapter since it was viewed in the system as newest chapter'. Just an FYI if you missed reading it because of technical difficulties.

*Special thanks to **Backroads** for previewing this chapter for Alvin character content and assuring me it was all okay since I have never read the books. Backroads is a premiere author in the HTTYD fandom, she has the longest Fishlegs/Ruffnut-centered story in the archive :)

*MEGA thanks to **Yamilink** on Deviant Art for giving me permission to infuse her two HTTYD OC's 'Rune' and 'Ireth' into my after-verse. Those are not mine, they are hers completely! She does a lovely comic over at the site that revolvs around Ireth– please check it out if you are intrigued :3


	11. Lessons Learned

On Ðunresdæg, all the teens in their second-year of Viking training were delayed because their instructor was being delayed. They weren't allowed to spar or even pick up a spear until the teach returned, even though they had spent the previous year learning to handle them.

Phlegma's sons, Munchglob and Rootstain, occupied their time by tossing another student's helmet between them in the air, all the while its owner tried grabbing at it. They were a boisterous pair of brothers. They laughed in amusement at their classmate's expense.

"Cut it out would you?" Rune, the junior forger, chided them. They sneered, not the first or last time Rune had ruined their fun— but returned the helmet nonetheless, just seeming to want to occupy time. They didn't have all morning to stand around—some had morning chores or apprenticeships they needed to get to.

Gobber had been their primary instructor at the beginning of their training, but then he stubbed his stub and Hiccup had replaced him since then. It was only for a few hours in the morning but they noted the Chief always seemed in a frenzy of sorts, always trying to get everything done for he had more matters to attend to and though they all wished he would cancel class - the Chief never did. It was important to train and to learn about dragons.

However the past month or so, Hiccup had taken leave from the dragon training. The reason he gave in general was that he was too busy but few knew the real reason. It was because he had gotten a new student that he seemed to dedicate all his time to. A student no one really knew of, because they trained in the off-hours.

_That_ student was the subject of delay between Hiccup and the current fill-in educator for training, Fishlegs Ingerman.

_That_ student was gone.

And even though the two Viking men talked in hushed whispers, the teens knew something was troublesome about Hiccup's situation and knew they'd never be told why.

"What do you mean _gone_?"

"He's not here anymore, Fish. My father said he never returned to the lodge and no one has seen him since last night at the tavern."

"Odd."

Fishlegs knew of the student, who was really too old be considered a _student_ in the first place. A man from a far island looking to learn how to train a dragon. He didn't understand why Hiccup had acted so secretive and edgy about it.

"Indeed. I'm worried he was up to something all along. I always thought he was a suspicious character. I don't know what or how but I'm sure this is going to come back and bite me in the worst of ways."

Hiccup had begun to mumble to himself which only further puzzled Fishlegs. Fishlegs barely had contact with the man but Calvin seemed the decent fellow; Stoick even liked him. Most of the village even did upon hearing he brought grain in the middle of hard times. Though Fishlegs was one of the few who knew Hiccup was instructing him in dragon training in exchange for the seeming generosity. Most assumed he was just another wandering tourist.

"Are you sure he left? Maybe a wild Nadder ate him."

Hiccup shook his head, "I don't think so, and he'd have to have been wandering on the far side of the island for that even to be possible."

"Well I don't know what to tell you Hic. I mean, he seemed alright—your Dad liked him well enough. I think I saw them drinking together at the tavern one night—do you want to return to teaching now that your 'student' has vanished?" he gestured toward the small group of impatient teens, eager to know if he would be relieved.

"No, I'm in no condition to teach anything right now. My head feels so jumpy. I think I'm going to send out a search party and continue asking around."

Fishlegs gave a pat of encouragement to the Chief's back as he left the arena. Fish had to sigh, he was best suited to take over on the dragon portion of training, as he was second-most knowledgeable but teenagers were a pain. He never remembered being so difficult at that age.

"Took you long enough!" Munchglob, the elder and portlier of the brothers sneered.

"Respect your elders," Fishlegs puffed up to his full height and brawn and suddenly Munchglob was not as tough as he made out to be. It was a laughable phrase at best; Fishlegs was only five years older than the group he was teaching.

"Yes sir," Munch nodded and lost his ever-present look of superiority.

To be honest, it was kind of thrilling to intimidate the same caliber of boys that had once teased him for knowing _too much_.

Fishlegs looked at his parchment meant to be a roster and took a roll call to see if everyone was there.

Everyone was—well all but _one_. He called for Harkin, daughter of Hoark, but he wasn't surprised that little-miss-tardy was late…again. She was a regular class-skipper even and he couldn't do anything about it—only complain to Hiccup, who seemed to have enough to worry without training truancy.

Fishlegs wished he could go back to working on his trade all day but Hiccup had asked him to do this until he could find a permanent replacement. Fishlegs was master bone-carver. He was _Master_ because there were no others in the trade on the island. He was the originator so he was allowed to be a title that took years and years to obtain in an established trade. He wasn't suffering financially for his absence though, he had Ruffnut mind the market stall when he was away. She would keep the shop organized and she would take the orders for bone-objects and sell the existing merchandise—and Odin she was good at that. His wife could sell anything. Though, poor Ruffnut also had the baby to mind. His daughter, Frostbite, had a very loud cry.

Having witnessed obnoxious teenagers first hand, he hoped to Odin Frostbite would grow to be sweet and polite. Though, having Ruffnut for her mother, that might be wishful thinking.

"So today we're learning how to soothe dragons."

"Everyone knows music soothes them."

Only because the entire village had seen what had happened a few years ago when music was being played in the village circle. The music seemed to call dragons from all over the island and pretty soon they were all trilling with content and in such concentration no one had room to maneuver from one end of town to the other or hear what was said.

"No, that's not entirely true. It depends on the type of music. If it's a fast-paced beat, it'll send them right into a frenzy."

Which that had been seen once the villagers had dancing music up and playing on celebration evenings—it had been pandemonium. Their scaled friends bobbled and swayed and shook the ground, that was, until someone got the idea to add a smoked eel into the mix. Pandemonium was had once more, but the end was in sight as the circle cleared rather quickly.

"But what if we don't have any instruments?" Ireth Netherland piped up, finally contributing to class discussion.

"You can sing, numbskull," Rootstain interrupted.

"No I can't!" she blushed.

"Oh you're right, you _can't_!"

Both brothers belted out rude laughter as Ireth's blush only deepened.

"If you two don't stop it I _will_ tell your mother," Fishlegs glared at all the interruption. He hated to pull that card since it skipped any personal intervention on his part, but it was just so effective.

The boys straightened up suddenly. If there was one thing they did not want, it was Phlegma the Fierce on their cases.

Fishlegs lifted a small bundle of green blades tied together that he had been lucky enough to find so early in the year.

"Grass?" the students wondered.

"Not just any grass," he warned them and then released a sharp whistle to Horrorcow the Gronkle, _his_ dragon, who had been—up until that point—lazing around, huddled against the far wall of the ring.

The unmistakable sound of vibrating thunder battered their ears as she took flight and perched her sausage-shaped body next to her human.

"Listen up, this is the one time I will allow you to hassle my dragon—and make sure she's good and annoyed at you."

The students were bewildered but of course the antagonizing brothers were quickest to pick up, poking at the dragon and calling her names. After a few moments, she lashed out and tried biting an arm or hand. Having had read the Dragon Manual at the beginning of their first training year, the students were aware a Gronkle had a _whomp_-tastic tail that could be brought down on them and so dodged and avoided those shots, putting their previous training to use. Though some were too slow and Fishlegs had to send one student away with a mild concussion. He saw Ireth continually inch away from the activity, she was never known to be good with dragons—which was why there was training for it.

"What is this for? This is stupid, we're supposed to _soothe_ them not rile them!" a student objected, probably while in fear of being whomped.

"A dragon has to be riled in order to soothe it," Fishlegs replied sensibly.

Horrorcow was getting angry, Fish could tell. She snorted and started to charge Rune, who actually was not doing the best job of annoying her but after so many prods and teases she must have not cared anymore—just wanted to wreak some revenge and had targeted the blonde youth.

"Rune! Catch!" Fishlegs threw the little bundle of grass at the lad and he caught it and held it in front of him as though it were a shield.

That scent of sweet bliss caught and froze Horrorcow in place on her destructive path as her eyes dilated and then immediately started hummering whilst nuzzling against Rune's hand.

"Wha—?" His eyes widened.

"It is mead grass," Fishlegs gave an explanation. Not a bad way to start a lesson. Always had to grasp a teen's attention.

"Whoa, it's made from Mead?" the other students gave their full attention.

_Mission accomplished._

"No. But since we don't know what in it causes the dragons to react in the same way most humans react to mead, we have attributed that to the name."

"Where does it grow?" Ireth wondered. He could tell she had a renewed interest in the lesson now that it didn't involve provoking dragons.

Asking was good; it meant that they _wanted_ to learn. Knowledge was the greatest power of all in Fishlegs's opinion, even though some Vikings _still_ weren't convinced.

"Mostly in places with abundant sunlight, you can tell the difference from the lighter green, and it smells sort of sweet too."

They gathered around Rune to sniff the grass curiously. He handed it off so the rest of them could feel the blades too. Mead grass was very soft, it sort of tickled against skin from its lightness.

Horrorcow eagerly rolled from student to student trying to get soothed off the limited amount of blades as it was passed between them.

"If mead grass is still connected to the ground it has a constant effect. But once you pick it, the effect wears off after an hour or so."

Fishlegs had done expansive tests on the characteristics of mead grass once Hiccup admitted that was one of the ways he tricked everyone during that first season in training. Fishlegs thought it was brilliant, such a seeming insignificant thing could bring a beast to its claws content and willingly.

While he was musing, someone entered the ring. He heard Ireth belt out a shriek and looked up in time to see her nearly push Rune in front of her as if he were the shield.

There was a _who_ and a _what_ that had entered the training area. The _what_ was a green scaled, Nadderhead. The _who_ was Fishlegs's chronically missing pupil.

_Harkin…_

"Whoa, you got a _dragon_?" the students whispered in disbelief.

Most dragons didn't get to trusting teens until after they went through dragon training to learn the tips and tricks of having one. The only exception was training-prodigy, _Ulfr _whom went into the woods and landed himself an adult male Nadder without any prior training. He was the same age as the kids in Fishlegs's group but clearly did not need to be taught.

Harkin looked scruffy, which wasn't a shock—what was a shock was how she was suddenly towing around a dragon despite being known as a complete slacker regarding training.

She had a wall around her, much like what Fishlegs noted Ruffnut to have at that age.

He would have lectured her but any step toward the girl sent the Nadder screeching and flapping and poor Ireth could barely stand it.

Rune grabbed the grass out of Ireth's hand and held it out while taking a brave step forward, "It's alright."

The Nadder squawked irately before mellowing out under the grass's invisible drug, Rune had the audacity to set a hand on the beast to pat it. It was obviously untrained and wild which further intrigued the class. Harkin was no _Ulfr._

_Maybe it ate Calvin the Lecherous._

Fishlegs still hadn't dismissed that theory.

"Harkin, are you...okay?" he asked. She was looking around the ring, wide-eyed and had yet to offer an explanation to why the wild Nadder had followed her. She didn't even have her helmet on; she always wore it to class when she actually showed up.

She didn't even respond, like she hadn't even heard. She straightened up, "What did I miss?"

He scrutinized her and then said, "Class is dismissed."

The rest of them gave some shouts of happiness, and they cleared out to do whatever else was on their agendas. At least they knew the advantages of mead grass now. Rune had even put the knowledge to use, the clever lad.

But as for Harkin, Fishlegs wasn't too happy with her showing up so late, and mostly missing so many sessions. Nadder or not, it was a sign of irresponsibility.

"Harkin I need to have a talk with you," he touched her shoulder in genuine concern and she drew away sharply. The Nadder—who had been lolling around after the grass blades—turned and growled which caused Horrorcow to growl at the Nadder in warning, either for growling at Fishlegs or for stealing the mead grass.

He gave Harkin a baffled look to which she stared hard at the ground, "About what?"

"You can't continue to miss training. It's important—if you want to learn how to train that dragon, you're going to need to show up to class."

"Yeah, well who says I want to train a dragon in the first place?"

He looked taken aback by her sudden sass.

"Hark—"

"I don't care! I'm not coming back to training—it's a waste of time—" she turned, held her head and winced, and Fishlegs felt very awkward at observing the tears form in her eyes that were only a stick away from the breaking of the dam. "I can take care of _myself_."

She darted off after that, not even letting him get a word in and not without a last, '_I can take care of myself_,' which sounded less convincing. The wild Nadder snarkled at him, assumingly blaming him for the girl's distress and to that he could only sigh. It brought itself up and followed her out of the ring.

He hoped _his_ daughter never had to grow up like that. He wished Harkin the best but knew without training that life would be a bit harder—not to say it wasn't already.

* * *

**A/N:** Fishlegs would make a wonderful teacher :3 It's about time we heard something from his end. a written expansion on that odd grass, yes.

_Ireth, Rune, and Ulfr (c) **Yamilink **on DeviantArt_


	12. Spoiled

It was inarguable that there was not a more doting father in all of Berk than Fishlegs Ingerman. He bent to every will and whim of his daughter. If she wanted to play games, he would oblige her. If she wanted her hair braided and her mother was too busy, Fishlegs made the attempt. All of his love had caused his child to become slightly spoiled and her mother saw this with a worry crawling at the back of her mind. Ruff had a few worries occupying her mind at the moment but decided that the spoilage of her daughter took precedence.

Perhaps Fishlegs found no fault in spoiling a child but Ruffnut had grown up with a brother and knew her daughter would grow up to be the softest girly-girl the Village had ever seen if she didn't do something about it. Because Fishlegs said always '_Yes_', Ruffnut had to be the one to deny Frostbite but not because she wanted to—but because she_ had_ to—so the girl grew up knowing she could't always get her way.

This caused tantrums, and Ruff was clearly the less favored parent in the family which caused her a constant anxiety. Frostbite was her baby as well as Fishlegs's and she wished she could give everything to her daughter that she wanted.

But it just wasn't practical.

There were only two options to reverse the damage.

Either turn her father into the villain.

Or have another child.

Ruff shuddered at the thought of giving birth again as the first time was horribly painful and traumatizing. The thought also led her into the other worry that had been plaguing her the past two weeks but she shoed it away, because it wasn't as certain as Frost's path to becoming a spoiled brat.

No, the quickest option was the former—however, it would be hard to convince Fish to tell Frostbite a sound '_No_' to the next thing she asked for, even if it was reasonable.

"Fish you gotta do something about Frostbite," Ruff accosted him one evening after putting her daughter to cradle despite shouts of her near two-year-old claiming '_No_! _Daddy'd let me stay awake_!'

He glanced up over a book he had recently bound, "Why?"

"She thinks she can do whatever she wants because you never deny her anything."

"But I want her to be happy," Fishlegs retorted, "Isn't that what we're supposed to do, make our child happy?"

"Yes, but there will come a time she will want something ridiculous or impossible or unsafe and you will have to deny her."

"Well I can worry about it when that day comes."

Was this for real? For once in their lives Ruff was the one planning ahead while Fishlegs was living in the moment.

She became frustrated and hit the book he was reading so it fell out of his hands. She did not enjoy being the 'evil' mother.

'What was that for?" he demanded, clearly startled at his wife's abrupt violence. He thought they'd been doing so well, with it being the forty-third day straight without any violence coming from his wife. He kept track of the days in his head.

"She loves you more than me."

He regarded her silently before replying, "I don't think so."

"It is so! She asks you to play more games with her, even though the way you braid her hair is downright hideous, she loves it!" Ruffnut accused, "and she always asks me how long it is until you return from market and even begs for me to take her there just so she can tell you, '_hi daddy_.'"

Ruff finally pinpointed her jealousy and a prick of sadness pierced her. For all she had done for that child, she was not loved as well.

Fishlegs took her hand, "I'm willing to bet that if she woke up in the morning and you weren't there she'd throw a fit."

"No, no she wouldn't throw a fit because she complains about the way my morning porridge tastes. She'd be happy if I was gone and all she had was you." Ruff pouted sourly and turned away, "To her you are perfect."

She felt a squeeze on her hand.

"Ruffnut, trust me our Frostbite loves you every bit as she loves me. When we play tea party you know what she talks about?"

"What?" she glanced behind her intrigued but not willing to show just how much.

"She recounts everything that _Mommy_ did that day and she says it with such a smile that I regret not having been there to see what goes on while I'm away. She tells me _Mommy _is beautiful and how she wishes when she grows up she can have hair as long as _Mommy's_. She talks in awe of how _Mommy_ is able to beat up boys," Fishlegs's smile suddenly lessened, "By the way, if you're going to tell her stories about Tuffnut you should leave out the fighting parts because our daughter tackled young Svenan recently and I had to pry her off in front of the market. Astrid was not so amused at the ruckus."

How could she not tell Frostbite about the fighting? Most of her memories of her brother involved fighting! Everyone had told her that they were sorry for her 'loss' but in her mind nothing was _lost_—as far as she was concerned her brother was alive and out there somewhere being annoying despite the evidence of his demise. She refused to believe he was gone and went into an awful rage when her husband tried to logically explain to her the low chances of Tuffnut's survival. If her brother were dead she would _know_ without a doubt. All because of _twin_stinct.

"Hiccup's kid could use the fight," Ruff mumbled but silently noted his words. She didn't mind if her daughter was showing early signs of a warrior but Fishlegs must have been content with her being his little princess.

"Still though, our daughter is spoiled—do not always let her have her way."

"I always let _you_ have your way," Fishlegs argued.

"I earned it," Ruff replied with a humorous tone but it was hidden under a frown. She picked up his book and set it back in his hands with a peck on his cheek. She was sure she had gotten through to him.

However, his test came in the middle of the night.

"Daaaddddyyy!"

The call was a solid command from the daughter who was outgrowing her cradle more and more each passing day. She would climb over the edge if the response time to her call was unsatisfactory.

Ruffnut could feel Fishlegs jolt awake at the cry for him. Frostbite had stopped calling for '_Mommy_' because the child knew Ruff wouldn't bend to every whim - that the girl better have a good darn reason to be screaming her mother awake in the night.

Fishlegs moved to go to her but Ruff clamped down on his lower arm, "No."

"But what if it's important?"

"It's not. She only wants attention. She will fall back asleep."

But no more than five minutes later there was an obnoxious tugging on their blankets, "Daddy-addy-addy-addy-add—"

Large arms reached down and scooped her into the bed just as she intended, putting an end to her chanting. She clumsily crawled over the mountain that was her father and fell into the crevice between him and Ruffnut.

"Mommy, I hadda bad dream."

Ruff could feel the light pressure on her hair from Frostbite's pulls.

A long, slender arm reached out and raked the child closer.

"What do I always tell you about bad dreams, Sweetcake?" a deep voice soothed, and the father brushed the girl's hair from her face.

"Can't hurts me," Frostbite still had a hold of the tightly looped braid of Ruffnut's hair. From when she was first born it always seemed the girl had a hold of some part of her mother's hair—always fascinated with it. "I'm not tired."

"Yes you are," Ruff yawned; eye half-lidded though she could barely see the outline of her daughter's figure next to her.

"N'om not," she refuted but gave a yawn herself and then crashed into Fishlegs's side.

"She didn't have a bad dream," Ruff whispered with an unseen smirk.

"How do you know?" Fishlegs wondered, adjusting his daughter so she was comfortably covered as she drifted back to sleep. Of course he wouldn't send her back to cradle, the big softy. He had failed at the art of withholding.

"Because that was the excuse Tuff and I used to wiggle our way into our parents' bed when we were young," Ruff gave another yawn and took care not to roll onto Frostbite, who was already sleeping again. "After awhile they caught on and we told them we had twin nightmares, which were twice as scary."

"Twin dreams are impossible."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, people can't have the same dreams and be in the same dreams at the same time."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Hm," Ruffnut tried to think of something to say back but she felt the conversation was reaching that barrier of Fishlegs rambling off into hypothetical wonderment.

"Wouldn't that be weird if you could go into people's dreams though?"

"Yeah," she admitted.

"Like...and then go into another dream while you were dreaming."

"Like a dream within in a dream?"

"Yeah."

"You have to be the most ridiculous bed partner any woman has ever had," she threw her pillow at him with a scoff.

"Hey!" he hissed in a whisper, "Don't wake her up."

"She's out like a flame."

"N'om not," Frostbit mumbled.

Well, maybe her daughter was a better little actress than she thought.

And undoubtedly the most spoiled. She blamed Fish, and if he wouldn't do anything about it—it was back to Ruffnut to deal with.

She suddenly swooped Frostbite up and plopped her back into her cradle.

"NOoooooo!" the girl whined, her pitch rising.

"NO!" Ruffnut matched in volume.

"NO!" Frostbite increased hers.

"NO!" Ruffnut topped it.

"Stop!"

They both looked at Fishlegs, a humongous dark figure that seems to fill their whole vision.

"Daddy-addy-addy-addy!" Frost reached out for him, must have knowing he was conditioned to coddle her.

Ruff stepped away, glaring in a near challenge at him though he couldn't quite see because of the lack of light. He sure could see her body outline though, narrow waist twisted opposite of her sharp hipbones, jutted out and arms crossed all into a displeased, silent language he'd come to know.

"Addy-addy-addy-addy—"

"Shhhh..." he stepped forward and leaned over—enough for her hands to find their way into his beard.

"Addy—addy—addy?" she repeated quietly, inquisitively. He would have usually picked her up by now and let her into their bed to sleep. "Addy?"

"Go to sleep Sweetcake," he shushed.

Not having her way, she began to cry—the sounds growing louder as he pulled away and rejoined Ruffnut in the bed. He settled in and sighed.

"There. You happy? I made our daughter cry," his voice was hard.

Ruff turned and propped her head up, "No I'm happy that you told her 'no' for once."

Frostbite cried and sniffled and cried some more and they lay there listening to it gradually ebb. The moment Frost was finally quiet, Ruff slid out of bed and picked her up, "You want to sleep with Mommy and Daddy?"

"Unh-huh," Frostbite whimpered, nodding her head strongly.

"_What?_ Why—but—if you told me not to let her why are you?" her husband protested with slight bafflement.

"So she knows I'm the one that finally let her do something she wanted."

"You're methods are really backwards you know? She's still going to be spoiled if you give in!"

"Ah-hah so admit it! You admit you spoil her!" Ruff jeered and set Frostbite in the bed where she immediately curled up to her father.

Fishlegs didn't answer, only made an exasperated noise signaling he had given up. He did that a lot when they found themselves in arguments.

"You see? That's the attitude that gets her spoiled in the first place."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Fishlegs sat up and flipped the covers, scooping Frostbite up once more and placed her into Ruff's arms, "Put her back. _Now_. Then go to sleep."

Ruff was never one to like being bossed around but she got a certain thrill when Fishlegs asserted himself—it was—well—_attractive_.

But only in small doses.

She placed Frostbite in her cradle once more—the child seemed more tired than ever at being taken out and put back into her sleep-place over and over. She made a half-hearted protest to being back in the lonely cradle but otherwise flopped over within minutes and into the land of dreams.

Ruff returned to bed, curling herself around Fishlegs's side, "Now _that's_ more like it."

* * *

**A/N:** Some post-'Roughest part of life' family life and a small reference to my second favorite movie of 2010...did you catch it? ;) The reason this is up so fast is 'cause I had it written awhile ago :D


	13. Wash Day

"He's done it to me again!" proclaimed a tall, slender woman known for shouting. The woman nearly threw down her basket of laundry at the water's bank and folder her arms across her chest with a displeased pout.

"Who's done what now?" Astrid asked, raising a brow. She tried to keep an eye on her laundry, her child, and her friend and it was becoming a trying task. Leave it to Ruffnut to vaguely complain and expect people to know what she was talking about.

"Svenan! Out of those clothes!" Astrid cried at seeing her near three-year-old's head emerge from a pile of someone else's dirty linens.

"NO!" Svenan the younger sassed. Astrid shot him a deep look and he obediently crawled out.

"Fishlegs. He is trying to _kill_ me."

The Missus Ingerman was also known for exaggerating.

Astrid was still startled by Ruff's claim but had severe doubts that Fishlegs was capable of doing any harm to Ruff despite his enormous build. If anything Ruff would have been the one to threaten Fishlegs.

"What are you talking about Ruffnut?"

She sighed with disheartenment, "I'm pregnant _again_."

Astrid's eyes widened at the news for many reasons. Ruff barely handled the birth of Frostbite successfully—another birth was worrisome. Also, not that Astrid would ever admit it out lout but she was jealous. Not for the nine months of swollen feet and mood swings but for the outcome. It had barely been two years and now Ruff was with child again whilst it had been over two since Astrid bore a son. She had wanted another child but yet hadn't been blessed with a second pregnancy from Frigg even though her and her husband had shared an unaccountable number of nights and days trying. She knew she had it in her, Hel they conceived Svenan nearly two months into their new life together, which reflecting back—she did wish she would have had more time with Hiccup to herself.

She didn't ask Ruff if she was positive because she knew the woman well enough to know she wouldn't exaggerate on something that serious without knowing without a doubt.

"Congratulations," Astrid managed to say.

"Sure," Ruff grumbled in response. She huffed and began to take out her laundry to wash.

"Where _is_ Frostbite?" Astrid inquired, seeing the mother was absent of her little girl.

"I let her off at the stall. Fishlegs can watch her, she minds him better anyway."

Astrid wished Hiccup could have had some free moments out of the day to watch their son while Astrid attended to her own matters. That's when she was reminded that another one would be twice as hard to keep an eye on. Still, she liked babies. She never would have known she had such a maternal side but little ones just made her smile so easily with their noises and their mannerisms. Svenan did something nearly every day that made his mother gush all sorts of girl-phrases at him and Astrid had never 'gushed' before she was a mother. On the flip-side, she'd never felt more frustrated in her life than when dealing with a near three-year old.

"Have you told him?" Astrid wondered—focusing back on the Ingerman dilemma.

"Not yet," Ruff grumbled, "He seemed so happy this morning I loathed it."

"Why would he be unhappy at the news of another child?"

"Because he will know what he has to deal with for the next nine months and _that _is an unhappy thing."

At least Ruff was mature enough to acknowledge that she wasn't a joyride for her husband—even if it was just to Astrid.

"Go easy on him," though Astrid couldn't say as much. She had not been the most pleasant wife while she carried Svenan the younger. She had often yelled and even threatened poor Hiccup but Hiccup was the most caring and supportive partner through her ordeal and now that she was still in a reflective mood, she looked back on those days and felt bad about it.

"I hate him," Ruff growled.

Astrid knew better. Ruff liked to be intolerable and grouchy when she was hit with a big dose of hormones. Ruffnut loved her husband, she just hated being pregnant.

"Mama mama mama!" Svenan tugged on Astrid's legging.

"What honeyoats?"

"Cans I catched a fishy!"

They were at the washing stream, and occasionally a freshwater fish would swim by but Astrid did not want him near the water where he could possibly fall in and drown. Again, she wished she could have her husband available to keep an eye on him. Toothless did it well too, but Hiccup had taken the Night Fury with him that day. Her parents were too busy themselves with their work to care for him.

Stoick the Vast was always an option but she feared if she let Svenan off with his grandad, she'd become dependent on that and end up leaving him there all hours of the day while she brushed up on axe throwing or even just sat in the hot spring until all her appendages pruned. Or maybe she didn't want to leave him with anyone else because she wanted to prove she could handle it.

"No, go sit on that tree stump and wait until I finish like I told you." Astrid replied firmly.

"But mammmaaaaaaa," he drug out a breath.

She gave him a look, warning she would shout at him if need be. He wilted in the same manner as his father under her stern gaze and looked at his toes as he shuffled back to the tree-stump.

She sighed and turned her attention back toward Ruffnut with a frustrated smile and a shake of her head.

"Astrid, you make it look so easy," Ruffnut commented with a hint of jealousy.

"What?"

"Having a kid."

"It's harder than it looks, much harder."

"Believe me I know," Ruff dunked an oversized tunic into the water and scrubbed at it, "I know. Frost is a terror at times, and this next one will make it harder."

"Do you even want another kid?"

Ruff shrugged, "It doesn't seem too bad after all is done. I survived the first one right?"

Astrid remembered how Ruff had been after her pregnancy, it took over a week before she could stand on her own again. Frostbite had been a pre-mature, little thing too yet had caused complications.

So Astrid shrugged at Ruff's comment, "I suppose you did."

She glanced over at the tree stump and there was no sign of her son.

"Svenan!" she threw down her laundry and called, "Svenan!"

How could he have moved so quickly and where had he gone?

Ruff nudged her and nodded down the stream. On the bank squatted the toddler with his hands in the water. Astrid's fear immediately melted into anger. Why didn't he listen? She _told_ him—twice even—to stay near that tree stump!

She didn't mind her clean or dirty laundry and stuffed it all into her basket and marched over to where her son was trying—and failing—to catch a fish.

"Svenan Hiccup Haddock!" she chided furiously and swept him up in one hard grasp. His green eyes widened in guilty terror. She plopped him in her basket and carried him off with a kept frown. She needed a break. Hang the laundry, and hang her son's misbehaving. She found herself in front of a lodge not her own and kicked at the door instead of knocking. She was twenty one years old and already being driven to wit's end by her child. He needed to be taught obedience and she was just too exhausted with him to make the attempt at the moment.

A vast man answered the door. Her father-in-law. He raised a brow at seeing his grandson , whimpering and tangled in the laundry basket's linens.

"I don't care how you do it, whatever you did with Hiccup please just do it to him. He misbehaves too often and I don't know what to do."

"My dear, you saw how Hiccup _never_ listened to my orders, what makes you think what I did was effective?"

Astrid bit her lip, reminded of those times Hiccup had escaped his lodge during dragon raids when they were young and usually ended up in disaster. "Well he turned out wonderful."

Stoick grinned, "Aye, that he did."

The man picked Svenan up from the basket and held him with one arm. The other balanced on the cane that Stoick used to help him walk. Hiccup had commissioned Fishlegs to craft a walking stick out of a Stag's femur. It was smooth and polished and the head that lied beneath Stoick's grip tapered out into the shape of a Nightmare's head. The grandeur of the accessory, a tool meant to show a handicap—a weakness—only furthered the image of greatness the former Chief. Astrid had nothing but respect for the man.

"Grampy!" Svenan chriped, immediately forgetting he was in trouble.

"You need to be good for your mother, young Svenan," Stoick told him straight forward.

Svenan turned his head toward her and gave her an apologetic lopsided grin.

Astrid could only purse her lips and give her son a frustrated look in return. He had been so disobedient that day and all of a sudden seemed fine in the hold of his grandfather. No t to mention he had used his father's smile on her—a sure way to melt her heart.

"If you want me to, I could keep an eye on young Svenan the rest of the afternoon while to attend to your matters."

She glanced up sharply, he either felt sorry for her or was being too incredibly kind. Svenan wasn't his responsibility—he had his share of childrearing with Hiccup already.

She was torn between the will to prove she could handle her own son and the chance at having an afternoon of quiet and less hassle.

"You would?" She found herself ask with a little too much hope betrayed in her voice.

"Of course, I'll show him what it is to be a Viking," Stoick already was turning inside, "I'll show him the animal furs and the shields and tell the stories of..."

She turned on them with a start of a smile. She picked up her laundry but instead of returning to the stream and finishing it, placed it back at her lodge and instead grabbed her axe that hung on her and Hiccup's bedroom wall. She felt giddy at having to pay no mind to a child the rest of the afternoon. She clutched the axe to her chest and put her back against the wall of a lodge. She felt like she was being sneaky—a mother who had pawned her child away.

She loved Svenan the younger but he was becoming a lot to handle. He would always ask '_WHY_' until there was nothing left to explain. He loved to say '_NO_', even to reasonable requests. It was exhausting. Hiccup's patience seemed everlasting with his son but Astrid could only take so much.

She stole away into the woods, rolling up her long sleeves to her elbows and then let out a fierce cry, hurling her axe into the side of pine. Her aim was off—it was off by at least three hands. She gave a huff and retrieved it. She hadn't had done this for awhile, not since before she was pregnant. Sometimes she hunted for sport but it was only when Svenan was put to nap and Toothless was around to supervise while she was gone. But just throwing—she missed that. Her arm muscles were already aching from one try. She tried again, the mark was even more off. Gripping her upper arm to squeeze the sting away, she once more retrieved her axe.

How could she have turned into a weakling in only a few short years?

Odin, she had been to a battle not even four years prior! Was it all because of this—_domestic_ lifestyle?

No, it couldn't be—Phlegma the Fierce—a lady whom Astrid had looked up to for years was always strong and shaped for battling and yet she had a family. Then again, Phlegma was resident armorist—handling the hammers and striking the metal to shape toward protective-wear most days.

With a growl Astrid tried again, but instead of getting better, her marksmanship only became worse as she found it harder and harder to hold her axe in an upright position. It was for certain the the mundane tasks she did everyday did not keep her in shape—what would become of her if the off-chance Berk was invaded—she wouldn't even be able to defend herself!

She gripped the hilt and swung around, releasing the weapon and it flew into a fallen log. Maybe she should go back and do the rest of her laundry, this was obviously accomplishing nothing and it wasn't even fun anymore.

She became horribly nostalgic for those days she could pick up and launch an axe without breaking a sweat, as if the axe were a mere stick. She swiped the hair from her eye and sat next to her axe on the log it was wedged in.

She looked at, reminded of her older brother whom had presented her with it when she turned 10 years old. It had been their mother's old axe, Sven had the head replaced, the handle wrapped in sturdy leather ties and bolted the wood together, giving it to her despite their parents' apprehensions at him giving his 10-year-old sister such a weapon. Some kids had small knives to carve with or to help with skinning or cutting kinds of chores. Not Astrid though—no—she had an axe and everyone knew it. Sven taught her to throw it, after all he was good at everything he did which had caused Astrid to strive to be even better by the time she started Dragon Training.

Unexpected tears welled into her eyes and she immediately wiped at them. Why did it still affect her so much?

Her brother was gone.

He had betrayed them! He had lied to everyone, _her _even—yet—remembering him, the thoughts of her brother who was told to have a tongue made of pure silver—still dipped her heart into a lake of freezing misery despite all he had done.

She mumbled his name aloud and buried her face into her palms, shaking her head. She was supposed to be strong, she wasn't supposed to let herself give in to that sadness. She glanced down at the axe from between her fingers.

Letting those thoughts even crawl just a little bit across her mind allowed them suddenly billow to great proportions. She wondered what Svenan would think of his nephew so bestowed his namesake. She wondered how things would be changed if he were still around. She noted it was a good thing Svenan the younger was not around to see her cry. She would never let her son see her cry.

There seemed to be an unaccountable number of potential happiness that had disappeared along with the elder Svenan. When she saw him that day, held up in _Myrkrstaðr—_she could have sworn she would have done anything to switch him places, how badly hurt he was, what Snotlout and his officials did to him—it was horrifying. If Snotlout was capable of doing that to someone he had once considered 'friend', what was to stop him from doing it again? All that had to happen was for Brynna to accuse someone of treason and it seemed a done deal. Death.

Odin, how was she to get these dark thoughts from her mind. How could she stop thinking about it once it was lodged in her mind. Who else could ever know—

_Ruffnut._

Ruffnut was just starting to hang the laundry she had washed when Astrid found her.

"Hey, where did you go? Where's little Sven?"

Astrid coughed, she inwardly hated it when anyone referred to her son by _Sven_. _Sven_ would _always_ be her brother. They shared a name but had worlds of difference.

"He's with his grandfather," she replied.

"Oh wow, now why didn't I think of that?" Ruff threw her hands up, "My mother adores Frost—I should see if the old lady would take her for the day!"

"How do you deal with Tuffnut being gone?"

"Say what?"

"You know—he's—"

Ruff produced a fierce scowl, mentally daring Astrid to say it. Astrid wisely did not finish, "How do you stand it?"

Ruffnut must have taken note of Astrid's guard being down for once and lost her scowl, knowing what the woman was getting at. Astrid hating letting Ruff get the upper-hand but she wanted advice. Ruffnut seemed to handle the circumstances well enough, and hers were by far more recent.

"Well, you can convince yourself he's just on a prolonged scouting voyage—I know that's kind of hard considering there was a body.."

"I never went to his funeral." Astrid whispered.

"What? Why?"

"I was angry, I was sad, I knew I couldn't handle it," her words were at their quietest, admitting such things.

_Go ahead Ruffnut, feel superior. I just admitted my weaknesses_.

But instead she felt thin arms embrace her, a shocking gesture of comfort on Ruffnut's part.

"I know you miss him, I miss mine but really they aren't gone—not even a little bit," Ruff pulled away and flicked Astrid in the side of her head, "They are all right there."

"But for the record, my stupid twin is still out there—I know it," Ruffnut picked up her empty basket and went inside, leaving astrid holding the side of her head to contemplate Ruff's words.

The only conclusion was that Ruffnut was crazy, she was in denial, and she deluded herself. And maybe it was better to plagued by the dark truth than to live like that.

Astrid had studied Ruff's casual manner, the ways she went about her days since they had been told of Tuffnut's demise—never seeming too troubled.

_Then again, maybe it is better to live in your own lie_.

For Astrid would have given anything to never have known what Svenan had done.

Maybe it was best he sailed away, forever scouting new lands and enticing invisible ladies to his wiles like he had always done.

Thinking of _Svenans_ it was about time she reclaimed the younger. She made her way to Stoick's, disheartened that her time of freedom was already over.

* * *

**A/N:** This started out so cute and happy and then it just went really...sad :( But finally the more in-depth thoughts of Astrid concerning her brother. No more dwelling for her. Svenan has set sail.


	14. Mind Jolts

**A/N:** If you haven't yet, please read '_Toughest Part of Life_' before going into this chapter for it will make a lot more sense; this takes place after that story.

* * *

There were many notions on Hiccups mind as he sketched in his journal. He enjoyed the activity but the current sketch was not for leisure. Even his hobbies pertained to business now. It was past the new harvest season and he had dealt with many leaders coming and going in the summer before and these guests were forced to sleep in the Mead Hall—on the hard stone floor under furs and coverings. They were leaders even, and Hiccup felt like he was a horrible host. Sometimes he could convince those families with extra room to put up the visitors but when he did that he felt like he was intruding.

His tired eyes concentrated on the char-tipped stick of birch that carefully made lines that depicted the interior of a grand lodge. He thought if there was one big empty lodge in the village, it could hold those who came to Berk for diplomatic discussions.

He had been doing well as chief, had been building new alliances—mostly with the Danes of the eastern shores. They had dragons and found Hiccup's teachings very useful.

He had lost the loyalty of the Western Clansmen though due to Berk's Celt-Viking alliance—which was troublesome as they were crude and only a few islands away from the barbarians. Hopefully barbarians did not make alliances.

Everything seemed to be going pretty well. Harvest had been good, much, much better than last. Hiccup even had spent a whole day helping with it. Never had he seen so much wheat and barley.

The only thing that felt like a sliver, wedged in these good circumstances was the mysterious fact that Calvin the Lecherous had disappeared awhile ago with no word and that his treacherous brother hadn't shown up to even ask about it. Those facts made Hiccup wonder if they both had died or Alvin was planning something sinister. It was awful to think of it, but it would be easier and not to mention put his mind at ease if they had died for sure. No matter, Hiccup was always on edge—waiting for the worst.

He didn't feel so bad for Alvin but Calvin had always been polite and had even managed to befriend Stoick the Vast during his time in Berk. He was almost sorry that if Calvin were to have died mysteriously. No bodies were ever found though and Hiccup had searchers comb the island.

Fishlegs continued to believe a wild Nadder had eaten the man—who had only gotten three quarters of the way to learning all that pertained toward training dragons. Perhaps one wrong move sent him to a dragon's stomach.

Hiccup was sitting back in his chair that was in the main room of his home. Svenan the younger was on the floor, stacking wooden blocks. He noticed his son really liked to stack things, to see how high something could get before falling. He was five blocks up without the tower being too unstable. Maybe his son was fit to build structures when grown. Hiccup grinned to himself thinking of his son's future as a potential carpenter.

Though he'd love to teach him the ways of the forge—there was just something so special about having one's son follow in their father's footsteps and he could finally realize where his own father was coming from in that aspect. He had always wanted Hiccup to be the best Viking of his own generation—to be chief.

_Well look at me now Dad—I'm doing a pretty good job of it._

Svenan added one more block and the tower wobbled and leaned before falling. But Svenan wasn't deterred, he merely started again.

Hiccup had once told Fishlegs that words really couldn't describe how much love he held for his child and that moment only fueled the fact. Determination.

"Hey buddy," Hiccup set his journal down and called. Svenan looked up from his endeavor and smiled.

"Dada!"

"Come 'ere!"

Svenan pulled himself up and approached eagerly, "Why?"

He was answered when Hiccup swiped him up and began to poke at the lad's ticklish spots. Svenan squealed shrilly and began to laugh, wiggling with all his might out of his father's grasp. Hiccup and his father never rough-played like so—however Valhallarama, his mother often played the tickling game him when he was young.

"What is all this noise?" Astrid stepped into the main room from the adjoining food preparation area. Toothless had been lounging on the floor next to Svenan but jumped up at the sight of her, possibly attempting to beg for some food.

It was early morning, the sun had just risen and both Haddock males waited for morning porridge. The dragon sniffed around her and then let out an odd sound. Hiccup had heard it before but soon forgot about when or where, his attention settling again onto his squirming son.

Svenan popped out one more giggle before Hiccup positioned the child upright in his lap, "Nothing my heart, just playing."

She raised a brow and he saw a smirk hidden in the scrutinizing set of her mouth. There was a brightness in her eyes he hadn't seen in a long while and he wondered what could have made her so happy. She saw his inquisitive stare, her voice became serious, "There is something I need to tell yo—"

He jumped as there was a sudden knocking on the front door. It sounded urgent. He gave a concerned look to his wife and stood, setting Svenan back by his toys.

Hiccup was prepared for the worst, an attack from former allies, the news of a death, even Alvin bloody Treacherous or his ghost arriving to haunt him. He would have been prepared for anything—anything but what stood at his front door.

A man who was tall, lean, well muscled and was boasting a few new scars across his cheek but stood there, leaning against the door frame and couldn't have looked any more pleased with himself.

"T…tuh…Tuffnut?"

"Hey! So, I was just letting you guys know that I'm getting married!"

Hiccup's mind barely processed that. He stared forward with wide, unbelieving eyes.

"NO! Wait! No...HOW are you even alive? Your boat smashed to pieces, Camicazi even took the time to come here and tell me so! You can't just show up without explanation and tell me you're getting married!"

"But...I _am_ getting married."

"That's not the point! I'm shocked that you are alive!" Hiccup reached out and dared to poke the being, he was solid—ruling out the chances it was an apparition.

"Do that again and I will hit you," Tuff frowned. Uncouth and daring still. Though, if Toothless had anything to do with it, a plasma flame would ignite Tuffnut as soon as he raised his hand to strike. "Now why don't you congratulate me? I did to you when you hitched Astrid."

"I can't believe this!" Hiccup was off again, his mind in a whirl at seeing a man he thought dead for certain. He glanced at Astrid who also seemed just as flabbergasted that Tuffnut Thorston was standing there and acting as though he had never left Berk.

"Dude, that's kind of Harsh, even for you," Tuffnut scowled.

"What?"

"For your information, women _do_ like me."

Hiccup shook his head, "That's _not_ what I'm talking about. I'm talking about _you_ being _alive_ again. You were officially dead you do know? Why has it taken you so long to return? What happened to you?"

"Details, details," Tuffnut shrugged, waving him off.

"Well," Hiccup was at a loss at Tuff's refusal to share, "Did you _just_ return?"

"Yesterday afternoon."

And he had waited a whole day to inform the leader of the village of his return? What had he been doing instead? Hiccup was just so confused on how to react to this situation.

"Who else knows?"

"My mother, my sister, Fish, 'Lout, I guess his wife and his daughter and my niece... hey I got a niece now!"

Odin, everyone knew! Everyone except the person the information was most crucial to. Hiccup had meant for Tuffnut to scout and possibly find new places where alliances could be made—had he been successful at all?

Hiccup nodded helplessly with a half-hearted smile, still processing he was talking to Tuffnut of all people.

"Anyway, so we need you at the wedding since you're the chief."

"Who is your bride exactly?" Astrid finally spoke, getting over her initial surprise at Tuffnut's behavior and revival.

Hiccup finally thought about the separate fact that Tuffnut was getting married. Tuff was one person who always had trouble with relationships in the village, even more so keeping the interest of females. That was only another thing to boggle the mind.

"Do you have her by contract?" Hiccup blurted, figuring he had obtained a bride through his travels.

"Dude, no. She willingly wants to marry me," Tuffnut was taken aback. Hiccup was just as taken aback at the snarky tone.

"_Who_?" Astrid seemed to be imploding from not knowing who was desperate enough to be joined with the crude man.

Tuffnut smiled, his voice lost most of its harshness in the answer, "Harkin."

Hiccup's mind exploded once more in shock.

"She has no assets, Tuff. You do know this?" Hiccup asked to make sure. Love, if Tuff actually felt that way- was a powerful drug but there were other considerations to take into account when being wed.

"She's so young!" Astrid exclaimed.

Tuffnut brushed Astrid's concern away, "She's an adult. So am I. We're getting married."

"Why are you doing this?" Hiccup asked. He didn't even know how the two came to be so close.

Tuffnut's brows lowered, "Because it seems no one has given a rat's ass about her since I left. She's alone and she has no one and nothing—but now she has _me_ and I'm making sure she gets some of the happiness she deserves. I made a small fortune on my travels and I love her, so is that enough reason for you, chief?"

It actually was.

Not once did Tuffnut mention anything that had the sense of selfishness. He sounded sincere, and he must have truly felt strongly for Harkin. Being married was abolishing the selfishness inside ones self to be joined as a pair.

Hiccup still didn't appreciate the jeering manner of Tuff's words but saw Tuffnut was resolved in his decision. He also resisted informing Tuffnut that his future wife had been on the path to dishonor and thievery that had been adverted by none other than himself. So someone _had_ given her a care, but unfortunately Hiccup's care couldn't extend very far because he had to do it for the whole village, not focus it on one unfortunate girl.

"Very well, you're getting married but I do want to speak with you sometime about what happened to you and why it took you so long to return."

He was also curious o how Tuff obtained a '_small fortune_.'

"Sure," Tuffnut shrugged and turned to leave but eyed the three-year-old stacking blocks, "That yours?"

Astrid gave a nod.

"Odin, _everyone_ is having babies!" Tuffnut mused aloud and departed. He must have seen the pregnant state Ruff was in.

Hiccup slowly turned to Astrid, holding his skull, "Did all that just happen? Wow. I mean...WOW."

"It doesn't hurt too much does it?" Astrid teased and took his arm, leading him to sit back in his chair. She kissed him on the top of his head and resumed her path toward the kitchen. He really did seem in a happier mood that most mornings.

"Wasn't there something you needed to tell me?"

She whirled around and gave him a helpless look, "I should tell you later."

"No! If you don't tell me now I will just worry it is bad news until you break it to me."

He had nothing mind jolt after mind jolt that morning.

"You need to relax my husband," she sighed, returning to him and pressed her palms to the sides of his face to soothe, guiding his sight up to see her, "Not all news is bad news."

Not that Tuff's news was _bad_ just really damn surprising. However there was always that edge Hiccup felt he was on—waiting for the worst.

He closed his eyes and took a breath, focusing on the feel of her hands against his skin, how a single touch from his wife calmed him better than anything else. He felt her lips press to his cheek, and then her breath on his ear.

"You're going to be a father."

His eyes snapped open and he pulled away looking her over, baffled by her words at first. He was _already_ a father! His heart involuntarily began to beat harder figuring her meaning. She was only smiling—a smile that seemingly could break the darkness of Helheim.

Then it all made sense. He was going to be a father, _again_. He couldn't find words to speak, his heart filling with that unexplainable bright feeling—but she was right-not all news was bad.

Though hers didn't leave him with any less of a mind jolt.


	15. A Husband Can Only Hope

Fishlegs's eyes were raw and red and for once in his life he had no appetite. He couldn't do anything but sit there helplessly holding onto a hand. He ran his fingers across her palm in a soothing motion but didn't know if it made her feel better or if she even felt it at all. He wished she would say something, _anything_, even shout curses at him just to know she was still there.

It was terrible.

Ruffnut had become ill with fever while with child, shortly before she had gone into labor. A two day labor. In two rotations of the sun she had given it her all, all whilst shouting and crying until quieting by the second time the sky returned to yet another inky black evening that did nothing to lighten the hope of circumstances. It could be said that at least she wasn't ill with the winter sickness—the sure killer—that had taken hold of a few Vikings, even some of the most strong. However her labors paired with fever looked to be just as bad.

The birth was ten times worse than her first with their daughter because she was sick, and weak and barely had strength to push the child out. He was a big baby too, three times the size of what Frostbite had been and tore unforgiving through his mother's hips.

She had called for Fishlegs in that time, and that's how he knew something was wrong. In her previous birth she had screamed at him to be gone, but she must have been scared out of her mind at the pain and so needed him there with her.

Despite the urgings of the midwife to leave the hectic scene—he had sat by her, gripping her hand and spoke encouraging words to see her through, trying to keep his eyes off the horror at the end of the bed. He didn't care about her loud noises or painful digging of nails into his hand—he would have stayed there forever just to make her an ounce more comfortable. She had been fading, fading fast, weakening while the labor was still in full swing.

That was when it was suggested Ruffnut would not make it and they might have to cut her open to save the child. Upon hearing this, it caused her to stubbornly force a resurge of energy, enough to push their son into the world.

Fishlegs didn't even have time to hold the baby, the midwife pronounced the gender and went to cleaning him and finding a wet nurse to feed him as Ruff was unconscious at that point.

It was a world of heartbreak and confusion as he heard the screams of his son, the questioning calls of his daughter from the outside of the door, and seeing the body of his broken wife.

"Get her out of here. Have her taken to the Thorston Lodge, she cannot see her mother like this," Fishlegs told the healer's apprentice kneeling on the other side of the bed—Ireth. She was always an odd sort of girl—and looked just about as devastated as Fishlegs felt at the condition of Ruffnut.

She nodded, knowing he was right "Yes Master Ingerman."

The door opened as the midwife left with his new son and he saw Frostbite's wide eyes, not understanding what was happening in the bustle of things. He had told her to stay downstairs but she never listened. Whatever she wanted she went ahead and did as she pleased.

"Daddy?"

She was told she'd be getting a little brother or sister, but that was the simple and perfect answer to their worlds. There was always a cost it seemed.

He turned away, holding himself together, a thread away becoming broken as well.

"I have left some herbs good for strengthening the system. If you can, boil them with water and have her drink it. May Eir be with you," Ireth said quietly and then took Frostbite's hand and led her away as the door swung closed. Then it was just him and Ruffnut and he needed it to be just them alone so he could finally breakdown into sobs.

"I'm sorry," he finally managed to whisper.

There was a slight rise of her chest to let him know she was at least breathing.  
He was sorry for putting her through it again, the sheer grueling pain, the risk, the tears—Odin if there was one thing he hated above all was when Ruffnut cried. To think he was the reason she might be taken to Helheim so very soon tore at him terribly. He had a son but to lose Ruffnut was too much and it was looking to be he couldn't get by through life without losing something. Only the Gods had a world of perfect and that's what separated them from mortals.

She had been screaming so loudly at the last leg of her delivery but when the baby's started, hers were silenced.

He didn't think about the blood surrounding her or the complete white translucent condition of her skin that revealed striking blue veins. Her face was dotted with sweat from exertion and fever.

He leaned forward and set his forehead against the back of the hand he held, praying to Odin, Frigg, Eir, and whoever else that was listening to help her wake and heal.

"Ruffnut," he managed to say, just to say it—to remind himself of who she was. She was not a woman to be defeated. She was his outspoken, beautiful, sarcastic, often nutty and fearless wife. Though, she had always worried about what children would to her but still bravely took on the task when faced with it. However now, he promised to himself and those unseen Gods and even to Ruff, that he would not touch her ever again if she did wake. He would not do anything to cause a child to appear in her again.

"I'm not naming him," he insisted through quiet tears, "That's your job—you did all the work and you have to wake up and tell me what his name is. Please, come back to me and tell me what our son's name is."

Nothing.

He let out a defeated sigh.

He managed to pull himself away and find a cool, wet rag to run across her body to lessen her burning. He had taken care of her before when they were younger and in the midst of battle but the injuries were vastly different. What caused her to be broken lay on her insides and to that he could only respond by cooling her skin and forcing her to drink a healthy beverage.

Talking made him feel better. He told her stories, the old ones, the Gods ones, ones he had made up. Even ones about their old gaming campaigns. When he ran out of stories he didn't stop talking to her. He told her everything he loved about her, and recalled their fun times together—battles, _Dens & Dwarves,_ and falling into the diving well together. He spoke of Frostbite and the silly things their daughter said about the world and how she reminded him at times of her mother.

It must have been dawn as faint light rose and penetrated the small window. His voice was dry and cracked from it's nonstop use from hours before. He was nodding off.

"Splint."

He could barely make out the word from the slurred mumble and even thought it his own hallucination from lack of sleep.

He looked at Ruffnut. Her eyes were still closed, was she conscious? Was she talking in through her delirium?

He brushed his fingers over her hand again as a response if she actually might have said it.

"Splint."

No mistaking, it was coming from her—a deep and throaty mumble. She was still barely alive.

"Splint."

She didn't say anything after that but seemed to drift off again into that unknown place of darkness.

There were no healers or attendants in the room for it was under general agreement that Ruffnut wouldn't last through the night, so it was not worth the effort to revive a fading flame. The only person with a healer's skill that didn't believe it, he had sent away with his daughter but even then he could hear in Ireth's voice that it was pretty hopeless for Ruffnut to live much longer.

Fishlegs refused to believe it though a part of him must have otherwise he wouldn't have reason to shed the tears. He was scared for the future, for a life without his wife. To raise two young children alone seemed an impossible, trying task. But it was more than just needing her for their children. He needed her for _her_.

Life with Ruffnut had been by no means easy. They fought like any married couple would. She'd complain, he'd sigh, she'd threaten and he would deny but those times were part of the process. Every time they made up from an argument their bond became stronger. A true love wasn't finding the perfect mate but finding an imperfect one and loving them for all that they were.

And it couldn't be any truer to Fishlegs regarding Ruffnut.

He was so tired from the recent events, and sick with worry and fear.

He knew he should see to his own children, it was more practical to give them attention rather than a fading life, but he couldn't bear to leave her side—to be gone when she did take a final breath—so he crawled next to her on the bed and curled her body close to his with renewed, silent tears sliding down his cheeks.

"Come back, please come back—" He mumbled over and over pleadingly until he drifted off. Her skin was burning with a child bed fever against his but despite it all he fell asleep next to her.

He couldn't maintain sleep for long, being so stressed, and naturally woke within three hours time to find himself at late morning. He was hungry but still did not feel like eating.

Frostbite was probably being looked after by Ruffnut's mother and his son most likely as well. It was cold; he had let the hearth dim in his preoccupation with his wife's well-being. He was neglecting his own.

His eyes blinked awake against her skin and he took note of her complete stillness. His heart dropped to Niflheim.

He pressed his face to the now cooled flesh of her back and tried to restrain the beserker's rage growing in him by only holding her tighter. Though, it all came to a halt with a mumbled, "Splint."

He peered over her to see her face, her eyes were closed and her mouth was partially open—she looked to be dead but if so why had he heard that word again?

"Splint?" he repeated in a near whisper.

The ashen face managed slight crinkle of the mouth corners. Dead beings did not attempt grins or grimaces.

She was alive!

Mighty Thor she was still living! Her fever must have broken naturally as evidence by the decrease of heat in her flesh. Maybe even those herbs Ireth had left had helped and for that he wouldn't be able to thank the girl enough.

Fishlegs embraced her gently, so very thankful she had lived through the night. That bode very well.

Still he knew the chances were small—the statistics were dismal and he could not argue with statistics even though it was the one time in his life he would have liked to hang it all—all the logic and just say she would be fine '_just because_'.

He heard a knock on the outside door.

Before he could ask who it was, the door swung inward and there stood his mother-in-law with a concerned face, holding a bundled newborn, and a little girl by her hand.

"Mommy!" Frostbite shouted as she ripped off her mittens and scarf and made to run forward but the Widow Thorston held the girl back.

"Is she…?"

"No," Fishlegs was relieved to say.

She reacted immediately with sigh of content, letting Frostbite on her path. She let the boy into his father's arms.

"How is he?"

"He's well. He nearly suckled his wet nurse dry, greedy thing."

A smile that seemed forgotten graced Fishlegs's lips as he looked at the sleeping baby. His son, a roly-poly of a being that no doubt would remind the village of how rotund the father had once been. He couldn't smile for too long at seeing Frostbite curiously tugging the blanket her mother lay under, persistent in her call of '_Mommy?_'

"Why did you bring them?" He asked crossly, his heart breaking all over again for his daughter.

"Children are far better than medicine my son," the Widow Thorston answered.

_If only that nonsense were true._

"Mommy, if you don't wake up I will stomp! Why will not Mommy wake up?" she pointed a curious frown at him.

Odin, he was not ready to explain such complex things to a two and a half year old.

"Mommy is…she needs…"

"Splint."

The widow Thorston looked at her daughter alarmed and a quiet settled on the room.

"She has been saying that, and I don't know why," Fishlegs explained helplessly.

He rocked his son, wondering how to address the smaller lad. He jerked his gaze back to Ruff with a sudden understanding.

Her repeated word, it must have been a sign—it was their son's name. That was an odd name but it was what she had chosen and he would honor it.

He leaned forward and kissed his lips to Ruffnut's pale cheek, "Splint, is our son."

He took her hand and set it on her son's—the first time she was to touch him. His tiny fingers curled around one of hers. Frostbite tenaciously took Ruff's other hand with a squeeze, anticipating a new game to play.

He then noticed Ruff was tightening her finger to Splint's hold.

And the corners of her lips gave a subtle lift, perhaps of approval

_Children are far better than medicine_.

Perhaps that nonsense _was_ true.

Even now he saw her fighting against the shadows, which made him fully swallow his doubt. Statistics swiped aside, he believed her to be the most tenacious woman alive and knowing by her stubbornness, she wouldn't let herself be taken. She would live to see her son.

The chances for her survival were dwindling into single digits.

Her statistics were so low

Though his hopes had never been higher.

* * *

**A/N:** Holy sliced heartstrings Batman!

_Ireth (c) of **Yamilink** on DeviantART_


	16. Tea Party

They didn't remember who had suggested it. In the end they agreed, whoever's idea—it was a bad one and the other was just as bad for going along with it.

It involved a play date.

Astrid and Hiccup's nearly four-year-old son had been bored. With Hiccup out of the house and attending to village matters and meeting with important people and Astrid exhausted most of the day at the new child in her stomach—Svenan the Younger had only himself to stay entertained and that led him to trouble. If he wasn't drawing on the walls he was taste-testing all the jam preservatives in the pantry or trying to stack what household things he could move to see how high he could climb.

So maybe Astrid called on Ruffnut for a little help—or perhaps Ruff offered when hearing Astrid's woes as they conversed by the washing stream, either way, the solution was to use Frostbite to occupy Svenan's time.

Ruffnut arrived at the Haddock lodge holding her newly turned three-year-old daughter by the hand. In her other arm resided the newest Ingerman, a three month old, grumpy baby boy by the name of Splint.

Frostbite was shy at first—as she was with everyone she first met but soon was wandering about curiously in her father's inquisitive manner.

"Now, you two go play and no mischief you hear me, Svenan?"

"Yes mama, no mischief," he promised. He still didn't understand the full extent of 'mischief' but knew stacking things and drawing on walls counted. He didn't plan on doing those that day.

Svenan followed Frostbite to the food area and let her look through the cupboards but was growing tired of her.

"Wanta play dragons and trolls?" he offered in his usual friendly manner. He remembered the girl to jump on him at market but his mama had told him that she was just playing. The bruise he had gotten did not seem friendly though.

"No, I wanta play tea party."

"Tea party?" his tongue stuck out in disinterest.

Frostbite frowned, "Yeah we wear hats and we have cups and get a few Terryble Terrs to sit while we talk 'bout stuff. Daddy plays it with me allta time."

"Maa-ma!" Svenan looked over his shoulder through the room but Astrid was sitting with Ruff and they were already seeming to be playing Frostbite's game because they were drinking out of cups and talking about stuff. They were just missing hats. Astrid cooed mushy words at Splint to get him to smile. They talked of more ladies who were having babies or going to have babies and Svenan wondered if his mama was going to be that way all the time once she had the baby that made her stomach so big. He was excited to get a brother or sister; then he would have someone to play with all the time!

"Be nice!" was all Astrid replied with, distracted with the drooling ball of grumps.

He grumbled and rubbed his hair over his eyes, he didn't _want _to play 'tea party'. He'd rather pretend he was a dragon. And this little girl was beginning to be a troll.

Frostbite stood before him and tugged on one of her braided pigtails impatiently. She coughed like she was being polite in trying to gain his attention but they weren't polite coughs—they were the loud wet kind.

"Okay sure. Do we havta to wear hats?" He whined.

"Yes!"

He motioned her to follow him up the stairs and slipping past the two women's notice, entered his parent's bedroom. His father had a helmet he didn't ever wear, but he wasn't supposed to play with it because it had sharp horns.

"Whaddabout this?" he pointed at it.

"It's ugly!"

"It's my dad's best hat!"

"Brest hat?"

"_Best_ hat!"

She sighed, "Okay, use that—but what 'bout me?"

He climbed up on his parents' bed and lifted the hat off the left bedpost, his dad's side of the bed, where it hung. He put it on his head; it was too big and slumped forward, covering his eyes.

He pushed the rim back to see again and revealed a frown, "Why didncha brings your own if you were gonna play this stupid game?"

"It's not stupid!" she squeaked angrily, "An' Daddy can folds me one from parch."

Svenan searched the room for any thing like that, and he was about to give up and tell her the tea party wasn't happening when his eyes landed on his father's sketchbook. The sketchbook had parchment. He jumped off the bed and grabbed the book off its place on a shelf. His Dad had a lot of drawings in it, some of his dragon, Toothless and some of his mother and a lot of boring stuff. He ripped out a page of boring stuff; it looked like the inside of a house and had hastily scrawled rune notes all over it.

"How does I fold it?"

"I dunno."

Svenan blew out a breath of frustrated air; Frostbite sure was difficult.

He tried it nonetheless, sitting to the floor cross-legged and folding the parchment different ways. Actually, he liked that— trying to figure out how to fold paper into a hat. After too many folds he crumpled up the parchment and tried it with a fresh piece from another page in the sketch book.

"Are you done yet?" the annoying little girl bothered his process.

"Here," he tossed the paper at her. If she was going to be pushy, she could wear a non-finished paper hat.

"Das notta hat!"

"You still can wears it in the head."

She frowned and put the piece of paper on her head. She took two steps and it blew off. She gave her best scowl of disapproval—shockingly identical to Ruffnut's.

"I gotta idea how we can make it stay," Svenan picked up the paper and trotted down the stairs with Frostbite right behind. They ended up back in near the cupboards and Svenan told her to hold that parchment while he scoured the pantry. He needed something that would stick. He found a jar of strawberry jam and set it in front of her.

"What's dat?"

"It'll help your hat stay on," he dug through an assortment of utensils and found a dull knife. He dug it into the jam and grabbed one of Frostbite's braids.

"What! Whatcha doing! Don't cut my hair!" she shrieked with wide eyes.

"I'm not! I'm fixing your hat so we can play your stupid game!"

"It's not stupid!" she insisted still. He rolled his eyes, doubtful.

He slathered some jam on her pigtail and then grabbed the paper from her and stuck it on. It stuck. He nodded to himself with a smile at his clever idea.

She poked it, but otherwise was satisfied at the 'hat'. "Now we need Terrs."

"You mean _Tewrors_?"

"That's what I said," she looked at him like he was the dumb one. He resisted telling her she was saying it wrong. "If we get fish we can get them to come to our tea party."

Her tea party didn't even sound fun yet. How could someone want to play a game that wasn't _fun_? Games were supposed to be _fun_!

"There's always Tewrors that eat at the slop pile outside—there's fish bits in that." He adjusted his dad's helmet and motioned her to follow out the back door. The slop pile didn't smell very good. Nonetheless, there were about three of the petite dragons scuffling around and digging for morsels.

"Terrs!" Frostbite cried joyfully and lunged forward to try and grab one, it skittered out of her way and she fell into the slop.

She sniffled, and then there was a look about her that warned Svenan she was going to burst into tears.

"No! No, no crying!" he demanded. If Frostbite started crying, then his mother and her mother would blame him! He didn't do anything except try to please the little blonde girl who was now sticky and dirtier than he ever had been.

"But we need a Terr for the tea party," she said sadly in a sniffled mumble, still on the verge of tears.

He dug out a piece of fish from the slop and held it out to the weary cluster of Terrors. He clicked his tongue to get one to follow him. A green scaled Terror became intrigued and followed the boy's prompts. He stepped up into the house and lured it into the room before feeding it. Frostbite had gathered her near-tears and followed them as well, closing the door behind them.

She swiftly sat down, and grabbed the Terrible Terror into a grasp of love. Then instructed to Svenan, "Okay you gets cups and then we can start talkin' 'bout stuff."

He grumbled but drug a stool chair over to the place where his family kept mugs and cups. He couldn't reach on his own so had to climb up on the chair. He grabbed two cups that had been washed and jumped down, but one fell out of his grasp and its handle broke off when it clunked to the floor. His eyes widened with fright—knowing breaking dishes was considered 'mischief'. He had broken a few plates when he tried stacking them when he couldn't stack the bigger things anymore. His Mama had yelled at him for it.

However, Frostbite wasn't concerned. She picked up the cup and declared, "I still drink out of it."

But there was _nothing_ in it. What kind of Tea Party didn't have tea?

She proceeded to drink the imaginary tea as she held the squealing terror in her arm.

After a moment she gave him a fierce look, "Sit down! Talk 'bout stuff!"

He shrugged but took a seat across from her.

"Oh what a lovely house you have. Did you enjoy the tea I made, Svend'n?" her voice was instantly different—lighter and daintier. There was no way she could have been a regular child with such switches in behavior, he decided right then that she was a changeling. Brig had told him about those fey monsters and Frostbite seemed to fit the description.

"You didn't make _tea_, you only makes a _mess_ and my name is _Svenan_." He crossly replied. After all the trouble he went to make her game happen, it wasn't even _fun_, there was no _tea_, and she smelled like a mix of slop and strawberries!

Her face crashed and that look—that look of pre-tears washed into her expression. He quickly put the cup to his lips and played along, "Its good tea, Frostbite—whaja you used to make it?"

A complete turn-around on her part, proving her magical wickedness, as a smile brightened what would have been a crying tantrum, "Oh! I put mint in it! And this Terr should be called 'Mint' 'cause he's green like that mint leaf I used."

"Does 'Mint' like the tea?"

_Tea that doesn't exist, you crazy,_ he thought bitterly, not pleased to be forced to play a dull game with a fey-troll-child.

She put the empty cup to the dragon's mouth and the dragon tried struggling out of her tight grasp, "'Mint' loves the tea! muchly Mint tea because his name is 'Mint'."

_This is the stupidest game in the world_, Svenan grumbled inwardly, taking another sip of his imaginary tea. _I want Toothless to come home and eat her._

"What in Odin's name are you two doing?" he heard his mother's voice ask incredulously, with that edge of displeasure that made him nervous that he had done something incredibly wrong. He cautiously dared to look if she had the 'face' that matched her tone. She did and he gulped.

Ruffnut stood behind her holding baby Splint, seeming amused until she took in the state of her sloppy daughter.

"Tea party, Mommy!" Frostbite smiled broadly and held out the terror.

"Is that blood?" Ruff choked with concern, handed Splint to Astrid, and rushed to Frostbite's side and fingered the reddish congealment of strawberry jam on her daughter's hair.

"Svenan Hiccup Haddock—" his mother started in, but not as loud as she could have because she was holding a youngling.

"Aw Mama, she made me do it!" Sven pointed at the girl with disdain. "She hadta have hats and Terrible Tewrors and empty cups and she made me talk about _stuff!_"

"No excuses, you gave your word there would be no mischief!"

"You told me to be _nice_! If I woulda been _mean_ we wouldn't not have even started the stupid game!"

"It's NOT **STUPID**!" Frostbite screamed and threw her cup at him. Luckily it didn't break, but hit him in his arm and fell into his lap. He rubbed at it and glared her.

"Frostbite Ingerman!" Ruff chided and yanked the girl up by her wrist. Her grip on the Terror let up and it yelped before scuttling to the kitchen corner to cower.

Astrid in turn, gave Svenan a smart swat on his behind which was impressive as she managed to juggle a baby and a reprimand simultaneously.

"What was that for?" Svenan demanded, now rubbing his bottom and hating when he got in trouble and his mama was mad at him.

"That was for the mess you made," She was mostly pointing at teary Frostbite.

"I'm really sorry, Mama," his eyes widened to their greenest and sincerest. He didn't know jamming Frostbite's hair and letting a Terror in the house counted as 'mischief, otherwise he wouldn't have done it.

Astrid's frown lifted almost immediately at her boy and then she bent over and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek. "And this was for apologizing—still though you are going to have to clean."

It always made him feel better, less _in trouble_ when she kissed him.

Frostbite was now bawling at her ruined tea party, and her mother's harsh chiding, "Astrid, I'm going to have to go and bathe her before that Jam dries and ruins her hair—sorry but can you look after Splint until I return?"

"Of course," Astrid agreed and they exchanged a helpless look of silent agreement that this would be the first and last play date between Frostbite and Svenan. Frostbite was half falling out of her mother's squeeze in the same manner the Terrible Terror wanted to escape Frostbite. She must have hated bathes.

Svenan got to picking up the cups and timidly showed his mother the broken handle.

"We can still drink out of it at least," she sighed, taking it and setting Splint on the table top. He rolled to his chubby stomach and made some baby sounds while gnawing on his chubby hand.

"Oh poor thing, it looks so terrified," Astrid noticed the little green dragon in the corner and opened up the back door to shoo him out. "What kind of tea party was this?"

"A _bad_ one! Don't ever let her back into the house again, Mama!"

Astrid laughed lightly at the boy's comment but still lightly scolded, "Now Svenan, don't be rude."

It was then that Hiccup burst through the front door in a whirlwind, looking eager and absent-minded.

"Hiccup?" Astrid called in question as he ran up the stair-ladder to their rooms.

"My Heart! The Danes have arrived earlier than scheduled and I was going to propose an idea for a–" he trailed off as he climbed to the top

.  
Astrid handed Svenan a washrag to wipe up the sloppy mess Frostbite had left on the floor and he scrubbed at it while mumbling bad things under his breath about the little wretched blonde. He heard his father's footsteps quickly descend the stairs and they both saw he had a look of bewilderment as he held the sketchbook with a few apparent ripped pages, but he stopped, considering, and took in the scene of the kitchen—of Svenan on his knees cleaning and of his wife holding a baby. He looked at her rounded stomach—no the baby she was holding couldn't yet possibly _theirs_. Just what had been going on while he was out?

"Buddy, you know you're not supposed to wear my helmet," he addressed the easiest issue first with a concerned, fatherly frown.

Svenan quickly took it off and held it in front of him, "I'm sorry, Dada,"

"And where are my technical drawings for a visitors communal lodge?"

The Haddocks naturally, both looked to their son who tried shrinking away as much as possible under their stares.

Then Astrid's eyes widened in realization. She sucked in a breath, half nervous and half ready to laugh, "Oh Biscuit, I think they just walked out the door on Frostbite's head."

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter has been up at DA for awhile but finally found a place and gives you an official peek into the mind of a young Hiccup/Astrid Offspring. Writing for young kids is pretty hard, but pretty fun ^_^


	17. Life and Death

Few times in his life had Hiccup ever felt the hollow recesses of what was inside himself. Whatever was inside him, what made _him_ could be attributed to a certain man. The man had made Hiccup feel every spectrum of emotion in his lifetime from fear or guilt to happiness, and even a rare anger bordering on hatred at one point or another.

But now Hiccup felt devastated and it was all because of that man who wasn't even there anymore. But still Stoick the Vast still caused his son to feel _something._

He sat numbly in his chair—knowing he had other matters, he always had other matters—Stoick had told Hiccup this upon the accession to the position of Chief. His time was never his once he reared a family and was the leader that the people looked to. It was a sacrifice for order.

But he didn't care at the moment, it was _his_ time—at least he could be afforded his own time to mourn.

Toothless sat beside him, head in his paws with an equally as sullen aura—often letting out huffs that stirred the dust on the floor. Hiccup was absently scratching the space behind the dragon's ears, not knowing how much it comforted him in this hard time.

The discovery, the shock, and the preparations had felt so fast, like a speedy voyage through a dream that couldn't be awoken from. His father was old, in his end days but still Hiccup had always viewed Stoick as an immortal figure—unbreakable even through the Ragnarok. He had always been strong, determined, responsible, and—well—_vast. _Hel would never get her hands on his dad, he had always believed. If anything, Stoick would be taken to Valhalla where only the bravest met their ends. But Stoick was not in the midst of a war or battle, his heart had stopped in his sleep. Hiccup was the one to discover the body—the pale but peaceful face of a once mighty hero. And now he was just as pale—a man but for the first time without that voice of wisdom and advice a step away.

His father was set off earlier via boat, engulfed in the great fire to be set on the journey toward the afterlife. And no matter how he tried rationalizing the parting to himself—it was time, it was as natural as could be— but the truth was he would miss his father.

"Hiccup," his name was spoken. He looked up, blinking his eyes clear to see his wife holding their son who was getting too big to be held, especially when Astrid looked ready to pop with their second child at any moment. The death had hit her as hard, she wore a constant expression of sorrow. He knew his father had been overjoyed to gain one of the finest female warriors in the village as a daughter.

He regarded her silently; afraid his voice would crack if he responded.

"Gobber wishes to speak with you," she said and set Svenan down. He ran toward Hiccup and leaped into his lap, Svenan was only four years old but knew _Grampy_ was not to be seen ever again in Berk. The fact disheartened the lad.

Hiccup embraced Svenan and pressed him close. After a moment he pulled away and looked his son in the eye—nearly the same color as his own or so Astrid claimed. His thoughts took a turn for the morbid and wondered if his son would feel the same way he did upon a father's death—whenever that may come about. He was twenty-two, far from his end days but was not a young man anymore.

"Hiccup!"

He was jolted out of his inner-mind and nodded. He lifted Svenan up and set him back on the ground so he could move from his place in the chair.

"I'll not be too long," he managed to say as he swept past Astrid giving her a swift peck on her cheek. Toothless rose to follow but he held out his hand, "Stay for now buddy."

And it took all his will not to look back and see the wide green eyes that had felt dismissed.

He ambled toward the home of the master blacksmith, which was behind the forge. It was the one structure in Berk that still had been rebuilt even after the end of dragon raids for Gobber was forgetful and always had something flammable near his hearth. He was sometimes absent-minded which only had gotten worse with age. Hiccup pushed open the door without knocking, knowing he was expected.

"You wanted to see me?"

It was a rare citizen who could command an audience with Hiccup and he would put aside issues of precedence to oblige immediately. He had known Gobber his whole life—and at times Gobber seemed more like a father to the russet-haired Viking than even Stoick. Gobber had taught him most everything about smithing—Hiccup owed a good amount to the witty scoundrel.

"Aye Hiccup," he heard Gobber say. He peeked behind the door to catch a better view. However the man he had always known to be smiling or cracking jokes was sullen as he sat on the edge of his bed. Gobber's once blonde facial hair was completely grayed, the skin around his eyes had become bagged and the years of smiles had left wrinkles and creases underneath them.

Hiccup imagined the reason for Gobber's rare downcast gaze was the same reason as Hiccup's hollow feeling.

Stoick had always been best of friends with Gobber, and what now in the world did the man have now that his best friend was gone? A dread rose in Hiccup, wondering if he would ever have to face losing his best friend—but shook it away—sure Toothless would be the one to outlive the current chief.

"Is it something about Dad?"

_Dad_.

Even saying such a thing was haunting.

"I was supposed to tell you something, your father wanted me to tell you…" Gobber nodded, but then held his head as if the message were forgotten.

Gobber shook his head, "He was proud of you more than he ever could have imagined."

Hiccup's throat went back to that lumpy state it had been in the past two days, like he couldn't speak in fear of his voice tripping over one of those lumps. He frowned though, realizing Gobber _had_ forgotten the initial message but covered his lack of memory with a default _feel good_ message. It was meant to comfort Hiccup but he only scoffed out of annoyance and sorrow. His father never had any reservations about chiding Hiccup or telling him what was wrong but still after so many years Gobber was still the one to be the liaison of Stoick's better regards.

"Why couldn't he have told me that himself? Why did you have to be the one to tell me?"

"Stoick…he was never good with words ye know. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders but he also carried you an' your mother."

"You mean he carried me through all the trouble I caused. Gods those ships burning, the messes I made, it is kind of miracle that he ended up so proud of me. If it wasn't for defeating that monster of a dragon I think I'd still be where I was or worse."

Hiccup hated his thoughts, how they turned sad or depressing so easily.

"Nah, I may not remember much but one thing that is clear in me memory was the day you were born. Stoick was just aglow with all sorts of happiness. Poor Val barely had time to even hold you before he was off, lifting you and making sounds of fatherly adoration. He didn't care what you were or were to become—all he cared was that he had you—his son and he loved you more than a thousand holds of treasure."

Hiccup felt his eyes water up listening to Gobber retell a memory he'd never told before. Perhaps saving it for comfort—and in its way it did sooth his sadness. He and his father had their share of ups and downs even after he redeemed himself with the dragons.

"Treasure…treasure…"Gobber continued mumbling looking up and around with a wide gaze, seeming to be crazed suddenly.

"What is it?"

Gobber stood and wobbled a bit on his peg, pivoting around the room, looking at the ceiling. He grabbed an iron rod and soon exited his dwelling, hobbling into the forging area.

"Gobber!" Hiccup was afraid the old man may have lost his head. Gobber started poking the low ceiling of the forge until the end caught a near invisible hatch. It swung open and out fell two rounded iron shapes.

"Ah that was what I was supposed to say—Stoick wanted you to 'ave these. He had no use for them where he was going."

Hiccup was handed the objects and he recognized them immediately as his father's pendants that had always held his cloak in place. In them was carved the clan symbol, the icon of Grimbeard the Ghastly—the man who established the village on Berk generations ago and in general myth and consensus—was the _best _viking that ever graced the waters of the Barbaric Archipelago.

He traced his finger over the engraving; the pendants were just as vast as his father, each were bigger than his outstretched palm—proving Stoick really did carry a lot of weight on his shoulders.

Stoick had been set off with all of his weaponry, armor, and finest threads—and for some reason his pendants were left behind.

"What should I do with these? I have my own pendants," Hiccup nodded toward his own shoulders. His were lighter—granted he did not have the mass of broadness his father had to hold them. Only descendants of Grimbeard the Ghastly were allowed to wear the pendants. Hiccup was some kind of great or greater grandson, and his cousin had always worn one set in his belt buckle.

"Now that's for you to decide Chief. All that is required is that they stay safe—Stoick always had them with him and they were untouchable. How you keep them safe is your decision."

Hiccup looked at them in wonder, he always just imagined them to be pendants of no consequence but if they were absent from his father's belongings in his journey to the spirit world, there must have been a valuable reason. However the reason could not make itself known or thought quick enough before a black scaled dragon leaped into the area with an urgent look about him.

"Toothless!" Hiccup chided for the dragon, in his anxiousness, had knocked askew more than a few shelves of weaponry.

Though Hiccup's frown was immediately lifted at hearing the urging whines of his best friend. The Night Fury whimpered and whined and pawed at the ground, turning his head behind him. Something was wrong.

"What's wrong?"

He could only understand as far as something was terribly amiss by the language Toothless was portraying. Without further delay he threw the pendants at Gobber, "I can't do anything with those right now, just put them back where they were—they can be safe there!"

He then mounted the saddle adhered to Toothless three out of the four seasons and Toothless was off, his wings opening as wide as sails, catching the updraft as he leapt and glided, landed and ran toward the trouble.

And Hiccup's stomach dropped when he arrived at the front of his own home. He dismounted immediately and ran inside to see Svenan hugging onto the midwife's apprentice.

"Why are you here? What has happened?"

"Your wife has gone into labor," she stood.

_Oh right._ He frantically darted his eyes upward toward their room, realizing he should have known the moment he saw the woman's apprentice. _Gods I leave for five minutes and everything falls apart._

"Well is she _all right_?" Hiccup snapped, knowing if he stepped foot in there the midwife would shout at him as she did when Svenan was born.

"Can't say, I've only just arrived and the madam is with your wife now. She'll call for me when she needs me."

"Dada," Svenan mumbled and pushed out of the lass's grip and pushed himself against his father's knees. Hiccup picked him up.

"It's okay buddy, Mama's gonna be alright."

_I hope_.

He had heard the horror story from Fishlegs regarding Ruffnut's last birthing endeavor and knew Astrid was better made for such trials but still he was worried. It would be horrendously tragic to set his father off, his wife and a possible child all in one week...it would be just—_awful_. He cursed under his breath at his spiraling thoughts. He set his son to the ground and rushed up the stairs. He didn't even knock, he went ahead and opened the door to see Astrid breathing heavily—steadily by instruction of that crouchy midwife.

Both women glared at him.

"Master Haddock, begone!"

"Are you okay?" he pointed a hand at Astrid.

"Get out Hiccup!" she clenched her teeth and nearly hissed—he decided it was the hormones talking. He also took it to mean she was going to be fine if not a bit on the grumpy side for the next few hours.

So he returned down stairs and grabbed Svenan up once more, "Want to see uncle Goob?"

Svenan smiled and nodded his head with a big exaggeration, "Uh-_huh!_"

He figured it be best for them all to leave Astrid be, get Svenan out before he could hear the screaming, and for Hiccup to finish his conversation with Gobber.

He sat Svenan in front of him on Toothless and they practically sailed through the village back to the forge. They could have just as easily walked but Hiccup knew how much Svenan enjoyed the wind in his face. Svenan loved climbing on Toothless every chance he got but the Night Fury knew better than to sail away with him and only him aboard.

"What's the matter then?" Gobber asked. He was still in the forge and had actually started to smoke a pipe whilst leaning against the shaping anvil.

"Astrid is near delivery," Hiccup responded handing down Svenan who tugged on his father's breeches.

"Dada, will I have a brother or a sister?"

"Only the Gods know," Hiccup smiled, finally for the first time in two days.

"What do ye want lad? A little brother or sister?" Gobber released a stream of smoke and inhaled on the pipe end once more.

"I hate girls, 'specially Frostfright so I wanna brother!"

This announcement caused both men to chuckle.

"He's not fond o' the young missy Ingerman I take it?" Gobber was still Chuckling which turned to a cough he had to beat a fist in his chest to disperse it.

"Not at all," Hiccup shook his head but pressed his lips together eyeing Svenan the Younger, "Buddy you can't just say things like that—especially not to her or her family—it's _rude_."

"But she's horrerable!" Svenan twisted his face.

"And you better keep that opinion to yourself young man."

"He's quite like his mother," Gobber noted, "Maybe this next one will take after you?"

He looked at Svenan who had grown a strawberry blonde color of locks, he was a good size for a child of four years and already had a sort of boldness about him. Hiccup thought back to a young Astrid—a small but daunting lass. The children knew when she was displeased and opted never to be the one to cause it. He remembered she liked playing with straw dolls but also liked playing wrestling. A perfect mix of sensible femininity and fierceness. No wonder he had always liked her along with the rest of the boys their age. Though he was the one lucky enough to claim her and now she was the one currently bearing his next child.

"We'll see," was all that Hiccup could say.

"I put your father's pendants back into the hatch," Gobber pointed upward, "So you know. If you ever want to retrieve them—you know that was the place he kept your mother's journal all those years. He couldn't bear to be near it."

"I can see why—he seemed tortured enough every time the day of her death came rolling around."

Gobber told some more stories of Stoick and then they discussed the passing of rights to be had on the seventh day. They had to wait until his father had made it to the afterlife to proceed. Svenan had become bored with them and began his futile attempts to climb onto Toothless and make him fly.

Finally when the sun had sunk and the stars started sprinkling the sky Hiccup figured it was time to depart. Svenan whooped and hollered in joy during the short travel back home on Toothless. Hiccup swung Svenan off and hurried up the stairs. The midwife was cleaning and her apprentice was gone but there in their bed lay Astrid, sitting against the pillows and feeding a babe.

She looked up and smiled, in the complete opposite mood he had last left her in. She covered herself and cradled the child—he loved the way she seemed to glow with happiness—though she looked weary and he had no doubt she was.

"Svenan!" Hiccup called.

They heard the patter of feet climb the stairs abruptly and appeared the boy in the threshold. Hiccup approached the bed and beckoned Svenan closer, "Come."

"Would you like to meet your brother?" Astrid gleamed.

"A brother? I got a brother!" Svenan was now the seemingly the happiest being in the room. But not quite. Hiccup felt a greater happiness grow in him, melting all the gloom and sadness that had been holding him in a vice.

"What is his name mama?"

"I don't know, what do you suppose we should name him biscuit?" Astrid's head rolled to the side and she studied her husband.

Hiccup's father had been a man of great bravery and steadfastness. Although he had his qualms there was never a time he lost respect for his dad. And if anything, he knew his new son should capture that essence as he grew. Hiccup's happiness broke through that darkness and shone through a wide smile. He kissed his wife, and then he kissed his newborn son.

"We'll call him Stoick."

* * *

**A/N**: In Viking times they had a way with names. They liked naming them after deceased family members-figuring the child would inherit the character of the dead family member-so I apply it here. Other than that, hope you had a happy new year, there's only more HTTYD to come :)


	18. Hairy Hooligans

Frostbite was chasing Splint around the main room. She was much faster than the toddly-son with a girth to rival a piglet's.

Ruffnut looked on in amusement, secretly rooting for her son to evade his elder sister's attempt to tag him.

Frostbite had speed and age as an advantage. Splint was barely past one year of age while Frostbite was reaching her fourth and with it more vocal astuteness.

Splint waddled forward and fell as soon as Frostbite touched him and that caused his big blue eyes to well up; he began to scream.

"Nuh uh, that wasn't _my_ fault!" Frostbite cleared the vicinity immediately and threw herself into her father's chair, folding her hands over her lap.

Ruff gave a chiding frown toward her daughter and picked Splint up, jouncing him on her knee to calm his cries. What a funny little name he had.

Fishlegs had told her _she _had named him—but the fool considered whatever she mumbled in her delirium of post-labor for a name. She could have mumbled '_charbroil_', '_cabbage_' or even '_vomit_' and Fishlegs would have named their poor son that as well. Considering it all, _Splint_ wasn't the worst of names. Ruffnut presumed she was mumbling it because she had felt broken and was subconsciously begging for a splint to help her poor devastated body heal.

Frostbite bit her lower lip and maintained the facade of a good little Valkyerie.

"Mommy, cans I do your hair?"

Ruff sighed, but acquiesced since it would give Frostbite something to do with her time. Ruff was attempting the activity she still dreaded. Of all the housework, sewing still left her headachy and with a bad taste in her mouth. She unpinned the piled braids that wrapped around her head and let them fall to her waist. She set splint down by his bone-made toys. It was kind of morbid to let a mere toddler play with dead creatures but they doubled as a great kind of reusable source. They were clean enough; they had been boiled and stained to rid of any lingering waste so none of the children could glean any sickness off them.

Frost scrambled up and stood behind her mother whom sat on the floor so Frostbite could reach every last strand of hair. Ruff grabbed the garment to her lap and tried not to focus on the pulls of her daughter.

"Hello?"

The voice came from the other side of the door along with a light knocking.

"We're home," Ruffnut called with a slight roll of her eyes at the seeming meekness of the visitor.

The door swung open and Frostbite's grip immediately let up and she scrambled toward the young woman at the entrance.

"Aunsie!"

"Hello you," the young brunette smiled and let herself be embraced by little girl. Ruff began to gather her hair up again but Frostbite wasn't as easily distracted as she had thought. She was on a mission.

"NO! Mommy I'm still making your hair pretty!"

With that outburst she let all of it drop again. Frostbite reassumed her position behind her mother.

"What can I do for you today Harkin?' Ruffnut raised a brow and pulled a needle through the cloth, obviously too hard for it snapped suddenly. Ruff cursed. Frostbite was not phased at such crude language and merely hummed out a tune while twisting her mother's locks of hair nonsensically.

Harkin stepped over the strewn toys and garments and took a seat on the floor across from Ruffnut. It was weird to think of Harkin as a _sister_ now if ever. Harkin was for the most part a sweet girl; she had an inherent sass and tenaciousness—which was why Tuff probably liked her, but really questioned her brother's sense to choose a girl who had nothing to offer but herself. He claimed to love her but Ruff just couldn't stop snickering for days at the thought of her brother being wed so much as 'in love.' She was still under the opinion he'd make a horrible husband. Just as so, he probably thought Ruffnut was a less-than-mediocre wife. Overall she just felt really _sorry_ for the girl.

"I was wondering..."

Ruff re-threaded her needle; at least she could do that fine. Being the Seamstress's daughter did pay off in that one way. Stitches were another matter entirely—and Ruffnut felt guilty when she asked her mother to sew for her because she was inadequate herself. But the kids needed clothes and who better than their grandmother to construct them?

"Yes? Out with it!" Ruff scowled; she was not fond of having her time wasted. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand and had way too many distractions going for her. Odin, when did she become such a stick in the mud?

Frostbite gave a hard tug of the pale blonde hair in her hand. It was a subtle indication that her mother should be nicer to her only—and therefore favorite aunt.

"How do you ever get Tuffnut to tell you something?"

Ruffnut had to raise her brows quizzically, "What do you mean? Something like what?"

"Let's say something was bothering him but he never wanted to talk about it? Or you wanted to know something and he never answered?"

"I'd usually just beat it out of him."

The tone was of utmost nonchalance and practicality. What? It was true. It had always worked for her.

Harkin nodded, understandably and that was just one of many things that had caused Ruff to mildly approve, assets or not. Harkin was young, and may have not had the sheer fierceness that the Thorston women inherited but she could learn. Ruffnut never had much exposure to Harkin, being older and in a different circle of friends.

"You know _I_ cannot beat him—"

"Why not?"

Harkin seemed to keep a laugh bitten in, "Well he is undoubtedly bigger and then..." she glanced down letting that indication trail off.

"Oh right. How is that going for you anyhow?"

"It's annoying."

Ruff grunted out a derisive chuckle, knowing all too well and more—in fact, why was she even laughing about it? She might as well accidentally nudge Harkin down the tower of steps in front of the Mead Hall and save Harkin all the trouble. Harkin had always been slender but not as slender as Ruffnut herself. No, pushing her was entirely mean—best let Harkin find out the hard way.

She stopped her chuckling and finally finishing her stitching. One of Splint's socks had managed to tear a hole. She bit the end of the thread with her teeth and yanked until the thread snapped and then tied it off.

"Come'ere ya roly-poly," Ruff grunted and leaned forward and grabbed her son by the foot to slide him closer. He gave a high-pitched giggle and smiled as Ruff only _accidentally_ tickled his foot before slipping on his sock. He didn't smile enough, kids were supposed to be happy.

Oh that son of hers, how he almost killed her. One look to those blonde curls, blue eyes, and it all seemed worth it. She remembered to inwardly gag at her sappy thought.

"Is it hard?"

'What?" Her gaze snapped up, momentarily forgetting Harkin was even there.

"Taking care of them?"

"It is. Well, if they are brats—which mine totally are," she said, bordering on pride and annoyance. She felt Frost give another mean tug, probably for calling her a brat. She saw Harkin's face twist with worry. "What's wrong now?"

"Well I was just thinking," she hesitated and frowned, "You are Tuffnut's sister, could _mine_ turn out to be like that?"

She had to honestly shrug, "Maybe—but then maybe all kids are just brats—ow! Come on Frost if you're going to be like that you can just braid your dad's hair when he returns!"

Speaking of Fish, where was he? She had sent him to buy a barrel of Fish and he still wasn't back yet!

"His hairs too short!"

"Well you're done young lady, three tugs and you are out!" Ruff gathered her hair and Frostbite began to stomp irately, her mission incomplete. Ruff knew Frostbite only liked to do that just to annoy her.

"Stop stomping!"

"I wasn't done!"

"If you want, you can braid my hair," Harkin offered, which diffused the tantrum. She removed the helmet she always wore; under it was the hair she kept up, she had some of it threading loose and Ruff could sympathize, never being one to have her hair braided so fancy like the other women of the village. Frostbite gave a squeal of agreement.

"You're only encouraging her," Ruff finished braiding her own hair back to a workable plait before pinning it up once more. It weighed on her head, causing her posture to worsen.

"It's fine, I don't mind," Harkin smiled as Frostbite started pulling out the pins, which caused Harkin's hair fall to her waist. Long, but not as long as Ruffnut's hair had grown, past her hips if she stood and let it all hang loose.

She wondered if she could cut it and no one would notice—just a small blade length or more. Fishlegs was the only one who ever saw it in it's full downward glory anymore anyway. Besides, it really was heavy. Ruffnut gave a grumble and searched for the skinning knife. It was _supposed_ to be put above the pots on the shelf but Fishlegs really couldn't keep things where they were meant to go. He really drove her to wits end some days.

She found them finally, on the shelf below and began to undo her hair for what seemed a time too many in the last half hour.

"Mommy whatcha doing?" Frostbite looked up and asked as seeing the blade so near her mother's beautiful hair.

"It's time for a trim," Ruff replied and collected her hair over a shoulder and with one swipe had cut clean through a forearm's length of locks. Much more than she intended but her head felt a little lighter. Women weren't supposed to cut their hair, it was their pride and symbol of their femininity and Ruff's hair was glorious but she knew it would grow back in no time, so had a little care to what others thought if they even noticed.

"NO!" Frostbite protested, jumping out from behind Harkin and advancing with a most tragic, over-dramatic wail of her almost-four years.

"Hush now, it's not the Ragnarok. Look, I just tie this— " Ruff knotted the end of her hair no longer attached and handed it to Frostbite, "—and you can braid Mommy's locks all you want whenever you want."

Frostbite took the bundle of hair and gave it a scrutinizing look. It wasn't as long as the real thing but it would keep her occupied if she ever got in the mood to plait. She could practice as well and then maybe she could do her own hair someday and stop pestering the women.

Ruff looked to Splint who was banging two bone-carved dragon figures together that Fishlegs had carved. She was letting her son play with dead animals and her daughter play with a clump of hair—_what a great mother __**I **__am_.

She ended up braiding her hair up again and swearing to herself that it was the last time she would do it that day. Frostbite went back to playing with Harkin's hair, Splint had crawled over to her and she had taken one of his dragon figures and made it 'fly' at him. Watching them all play together, Ruff knew then that even if Tuffnut was an immature cad—Harkin would surely be a good enough mother to whatever brother-spawn she was carrying.

"Ladies," they heard Fishlegs regard them at the front of the room. The lug had finally returned. He carried in the barrel of fish over their heads and he had to mind Frostbite's excited chirps of '_Daddy_!' as she ran underfoot.

"Frost, get out of your father's way else you want to trip him and lose half a week's dinner on the floor!"

She skipped back to Harkin. Ruff supposed Harkin had nothing better to do that evening. She wondered where Tuffnut was to bore Harkin so much that she sought company there. She also wondered what information Harkin was wanting extracted from her husband and wanted advice to obtain. Ruff continued staring at the three playing.

Or perhaps Harkin had ulterior motives—curious to know what a family life was like. To practice with her niece and nephew.

"Harkin are you staying for dinner?" Ruff teased. Her sister's social call had lasted long enough—it was time for her to go back to her own home.

"Oh, no I…"

"Yes! Yes! Mommy please yes!" Frostbite nearly yanked Harkin's hair in sudden excitement.

"Calm down, I wasn't serious," Ruffnut frowned and Frostbite pouted.

"It's fine, I have to go home anyway. Your mother always insists I help her," Harkin pulled to her feet not bothering to tie up her hair. She would be scolded if anyone saw her in public like that.

"Good, that old lady needs all the company she can get," Ruff laughed. It was snide but it was true. Her mother had been alone while Tuffnut was presumed dead by everyone—which actually motivated the woman to leave her home and seek Ruffnut and children for interaction. Ruff just believed her mother missed teasing her own offspring. She did not tease her grandchildren though, only sprinkled them with the adoration of any grandmother.

"What was Harkin doing here?" Fishlegs asked. He must have deposited the fish and returned to them already.

"Daddy! I got to do Aunsie's hair!" Frostbite finally grabbed onto Fishlegs's breeches and yanked adamantly.

He picked her up and absently crossed the room only to set her back down. The effort proved futile because she was already climbing on his back, "Didn't it look pretty?"

"Yes, sweet-cake, very beautiful," he replied and snatched her off. Ruff knew he hadn't even noticed the state of Harkin's hair otherwise he wouldn't have confirmed it. Frostbite scrambled over and began to play with Splint and his toys. She seemed to like playing with him, especially play 'keep away' with his toys until he cried and either Fishlegs or Ruffnut intervened and chided her for it. Well the chiding was more or less left to _the mother_.

He focused back to Ruffnut. She hadn't answered.

"Oh, I think she's just unsettled about her state—wanted to witness first hand how _awesome_ kids are."

He narrowed his eyes, seeming to try and determine if she really thought kids were awesome or if she didn't and was just being smarmy. She liked hers well enough despite their disobedience and the effort that went into them but other kids were just annoying. Then he _did_ seem catch notice of something, she could tell by they way his eyebrows knotted in a mix of wonder and confusion. "Is your hair different?"

She was amazed that he could even tell with it braided, "Yes—I trimmed it—it was getting too heavy."

It was weird, these silences that overtook them more and more as time progressed. Ruff beat her fists together, "Whelp, I should start dinner—your _son _has an endless stomach."

He didn't smile at her joke. She frowned and turned on him, moving herself to gather a few fish to gut and skin.

"Mommy! Cans I play with Brig!"

"No, it's near dinner," Ruff replied. She already had her fill of guests.

"Cans I play outside with the Zipzles?"

She sighed, slamming a fish onto the counter top, "Yes, but only if they are there!"

Frost gave a cheer and saw herself out.

She had no idea if the Zippleback were hanging around her or Tuff's place that night. It seemed to come to and fro—whichever twin it felt like stalking. She had fed it in the morning, that's why Fishlegs was sent to retrieve more fish—she had run out while feeding them. Horrorcow the Gronkle was worse, she had just a big of appetite as Fishlegs. No one _had_ to feed them though, any dragon could well enough try to fish on their own.

She cut off the fish heads and the room filled with fish-smell. Her nose scrunched unpleasantly at the stench. Then she felt his gaze through the room—still staring at her. _What_ in Midgard was his problem?

"What?" she growled and threw the knife into the counter, immediately throwing the free hand to her hip and gave challenging look. He flinched and a silence spread once more but for the little noises that Splint was burbling nonsensically as he continued to play.

"I—I liked your hair…the way it was," he said timidly.

"It will grow back."

She was growing more frustrated with him. Mostly, because he used to look at her with a burning lust and it always caused her to be giddy but ever since Splint came along her husband did not touch her, the lust was replaced by something else—and she hated it. Every move she made at him he shied away from with a lame excuse, and he never initiated anything anymore. Did she become so undesirable that he recoiled?

Was her _hair_ the only reason he continued to share a bed with her? If so she was screwed now that she had messed it up. Gods, how her mood had turned to rainclouds.

She yanked the knife out and began to skin the fish, peeling it back and scooping out it's meat.

"Three of your pots went today," he mentioned and picked up Splint to play a bit. Well that was good. Ruff had continued her earthenware endeavors and left them off at his stall to sell. It was hard though, she couldn't keep many Terrible Terrors around to fire her clay on account of Frostbite scaring them away.

"How much?"

"Seventeen aurar."

She smiled and made the mistake of looking up to meet his stare. Seeing that extinguished lust made it fall and concentrate back on skinning the next slimy creature intended for consumption.

She heard him plop Splint to the floor once more and stand and move toward her, halting in front of the space she was using.

"What's wrong?"

_What's wrong? What's wrong?_ She never knew she could get so angry at such an innocent-seeming question, especially coming from her shy, polite husband.

"_You_," she looked up and pointed the knife under his chin. She was tired of hiding her annoyance. They both knew the truth.

His eyes widened, "What? What do you mean? Why?"

"You don't—" she couldn't keep his gaze anymore, she looked away,"_love_ me—anymore."

He responded with lots of breaths and huffs like he was the one just so _flustered_ and _upset_ that she would accuse him of such a thing. If she was none the wiser she would have thought she tripped his berserker rage-but she knew better. After a few moments of jagged, exhales of disbelief, he calmed down. She wondered if he was brave enough to admit it. Really what else could be the reason that he hadn't even acted romantic toward her in a _year_?

"Is—is that what you think?" he finally asked, his voice edgy with astounded sorrow and suddenly she felt like _she_ was being the jerk.

"What should I think? You haven't made love to me since Splint was conceived—you—just—" She stopped and bit her bottom lip at hearing Frostbite playing at the back door; she lowered her voice, "Just go away."

She had started to shout and didn't want Frostbite to get curious and come inside to witness them fighting, or rather _mommy_ just _yelling_—which wasn't new but Ruff never yelled at Fishlegs in front of their daughter.

But he didn't go away and Ruff couldn't help to feel her cheeks burning with trying to keep her emotions inside. She felt _sad_—and turned away instinctively to put a cool, fishy hand to her heated face. It wasn't fair because she still loved him, truly. If she hadn't, she would have left his rear by now.

There yet was silence.

"After seeing you nearly die, I promised myself I'd do nothing to get you into that situation ever again. Ruff—" she felt a large hand land on her shoulder and give a slight squeeze. She was thinking about his statement. "If you would have been taken from me I would have been destroyed—I _was_ destroyed—"

She looked over her shoulder and saw him staring into nothing, maybe inside himself and remembering that time in which she had been absent for. She'd never seen him like it before. It worried her. He had paled and he looked destroyed even recalling the thought. She knew it had been bad but he'd never let on how much it affected him. He took a breath and met her eyes, sincere—"I love you, _more_ than anything."

She didn't let him continue but grabbed his hand, flipped herself around and pulled in close, relieved and not ever realizing _that_ was the rationalization for isolating her. The guy probably didn't even consider he had done that in the process. If he would have just _told_ her it would have saved her months of sour worry and psychological loneliness.

"Okay," she took a breath, and kissed him meaningfully—as an apology for their drastic miscommunication—but hopefully now they were on the right page. "All right, no more children…but you know there are _other_ ways we can enjoy each others company at night, do you not?"

The raise of his brows told her that he was clueless. Poor sheltered Fish, maybe she should send him to the tavern more often and let him pick up crude suggestions from the men hounding the barmaids.

She ended up choking out a laugh that still caught on those lingering emotions that had conglomerated in the hollow of her throat. That laugh deflated all her tension. She was squeezed, fish-hands and all by her husband.

Her husband that _loved_ her.

But was a big dope sometimes.

She removed herself, feeling better about the world and picked up the knife once more. As she cut, her lips drew back into a wicked grin, "Well I guess I know what game we're playing after dinner."

He smiled.

And it certainly would not be _Den's & Dwarves_ this time.

* * *

**A:N:** Sooo long but a fun look into bratty children and a serious look into marital communication. Oh and if you want to see a cute pic of frostbite and Splint that is sure to be found in my Deviant Art Gallery :3


	19. Twins

"Two!"

Harkin nodded weakly.

"Two!" He shrilled in disbelief at the women in the room who only nodded, affirming it.

He approached them and could not tell the difference on the outside, "Two!"

"Don't yell at them, it's not their fault," he heard Harkin snap, already the somewhat the protective mother. Tuffnut was just in a state of shock. Ruff had managed to get away without twins but no, it was through him that his young wife had a twofer. Poor, exhausted Harkin. Didn't these kind of things skip generations?

"What do you want to name them?" she asked.

"Can't we do that later?"

She shook her head, "No, we've put it off for nine months and we're not anymore—they need names now."

"How about I say a word, and then you say immediately what comes to mind for the girl then switch for the lad?"

He had no idea how to name children. He was never good at naming things in the first place. If he had it his way one would be 'boy' and the other 'girl.'

"Whatever, let's just get it done and them I'm going back to bed."

"I'll join you," Tuff smiled teasingly.

"No, you won't touch me for at least three months sir," she glared but then smiled wearily at her own comment, humored.

He ignored that remark, knowing she couldn't stand to be away from his touch a few days let alone weeks. Odin, how that woman loved him.

She had been pretty easy to put up with during her pregnancy, which he considered himself miles more fortunate than the other fathers his age who had been in the same situations. The pregnancy was also good for it distracted her nagging questions regarding the time he was away. There were just some things he never wanted to talk about again., yet she always persisted.

"Okay, here's my word—_Briar_."

"Prick," she blurted and then snapped, "_Bludgeon_."

"Stick."

_Bludgeonstick._

_Briarprick._

Two fierce names for the fierce twins he knew they would grow to be. They had his blood, therefore they would be as deadly, or perhaps even _deadly weapons_. But not the _deadliest_, a title he reserved for himself as patriarch.

No trolls would come after them, that was for sure.

He thought a moment about her words—_'prick' _and _'bludgeon'_. Well, maybe it wasn't wise to crawl into bed with her until she wanted his company.

The midwife handed him the one she was holding, "Which one is this?"

"Your _son_."

"Cool," Tuffnut grinned and looked on the newborn, "Sorry I yelled at you—kid."

Baby Bludgeonstick made a baby noise an then began to cry.

"What? What's wrong?" He held the child away as if it were going to release a shoot of fire like a dragon.

Harking only shrugged, her eyes heavy with sleep "I don't know, babies _cry._"

"They need fed," the midwife explained and nodded toward Harkin.

"Now? But I'm so sleepy! Haven't I done enough for them already?"

The midwife pressed her lips together, "You two so far are showing very inept signs at parenting. You should be prepared for the responsibility if you are going to produce young. These poor children have a future of neglect ahead of them—"

Tuff felt insulted, "Hey now..."

"It's all right madam, I will take it from here," The Widow Thorston cut in coolly.

Since they lived in his childhood home his mother was constantly around, and it was a good thing too—especially now with twins.

The midwife nodded, knowing the widow Thorston to have experience in twin childrearing and departed, handing over Briarprick to her grandmother.

"Harkin dear, unwrap your garment, your children need fed. Tuffnut, be gone."

"Aw, but mom-"

His mother snapped sharply, "Go, and give me the child."

Bludgeonstick was still crying at the top of his lungs.

His mother certainly knew how to get business done. Harkin yawned but did as told and he wished he could have stayed and observed how babies were fed because her actions proved to be most intriguing. But the gaze of his mother was adamant. He gave Bludgeonstick to her and the baby immediately stopped crying and Tuffnut took that to mean he liked his grandmother better than his father and felt a prick of jealousy.

The lady balanced both infants in her arms and made adorable, loving faces at them, she was a glowing grandmother now with a grand total of four grandchildren to dote upon.

"Leave, go tell your sister of the new family."

He nodded but really didn't want to—it was freezing outside. Before he left he kissed Harkin on the forehead. She barely responded but woke up a bit when one of the infants latched onto its source of nourishment. Tuff chuckled and his mother pointed him in the direction of the door. He tugged on as many layers as possible before leaving.

He walked proudly through the village toward his sister's home. If there had been villagers about, they would have eagerly asked the outcome of Harkin's labors and he would have taken all pleasure in answering '_twins_.'

Harkin had guessed at twins, claiming she felt different kickings but he tried to assure her there weren't twins—because twins were rare. The only other set in the village was himself and Ruffnut. Twins were also a challenge to raise—he knew first hand, remembering the difficulty he and his sister caused.

Speaking of which he was already at her door. Before he could knock the door was thrown open and she had a face full of intrigue and a handful of his nephew, "Did it happen yet? What happened? Is she okay? What did you get?"

Ruff liked Harkin, well—he assumed so since Harkin often visited the Ingerman household. He had seen Ruff gossiping with his wife on more than one occasion.

He hadn't seen his sister for a few weeks. Visiting was kept to a minimum when everyone was being snowed in.

"Uh, first of all, how did you know I was here? I didn't even knock."

He guessed she would answer _twinstinct_.

"You stomp loud even through snow, I heard you paces before you arrived."

He brushed off her insult. No one was ruining this day, "I got twins."

Ruff's jaw hung open, obviously impressed—or sympathetic, "_Shut up_! Twins?"

He only nodded triumphantly then shivered, "Could you let me in?"

She rolled her eyes with a nod and moved so he could enter. Splint gave a tremendous yawn and dropped his head into his mother's chest.

"I gotta put him down. He's like a small boulder when he does this," she heaved her arm under the toddler for better holding. She carried him up the stairs.

"Where 's Fish?"

"At the stall!"

"Where's Frost?"

Usually the little girl would run in and tug at her uncle's breeches and demand to be taken on a 'dragon ride' , which was when Tuffnut picked her up and held her above his head while he spun around. His breeches had yet to be tugged.

"She went with him!"

_How can that little blob get any sleep if she keeps on yelling like that? _He had to wonder.

Ruff returned to him wiping her hands as if she just moved a lump of dirt, "So want something hot to drink?"

"Yeah," he responded following her over to the shelves where she pulled out a pot, filled it with water and then suspended it over the flames of the lodge's hearth.

"So, what are their names? Are they both boys, both girls or did they turn out like us?"

"Oh yeah, um—I got one of each and…" he froze, because he'd forgotten what he half-named them. That was a fallback of not planning these things out.

"The names are Briarstick and Bldgeonprick."

Ruff raised a brow, "Wow, those are some pretty idiotic names."

He was about to punch her a good one for slandering his children's good names but realized she was right, remembering "Oh never mind. It's _Bludgeonstick_ and _Briarprick_."

She lost her scornful expression and replaced it with consideration, "Not bad, not bad at all."

She removed the pot and placed one of her homemade cups in the steaming water, and filled it with cider. After a few moments, she removed it and wiped the edges of water and handed it to him.

"Why didn't you just put the cider in the pot?"

"It gets a weird taste in that pot."

He shrugged and blew before taking a sip. It burnt his lips but he didn't mind; he was cold and he loved alcohol. The beverage was tangy and bitter but it hit the spot.

"So you going to congratulate me?"

"Congratulations."

Ruff was giving him an unamused look from where she stood. He had taken a seat in Fishlegs's unoccupied chair to drink. He felt awkward—was this what Harkin did when she visited his sister?

"So what aren't you telling Harkin?"

He spit his sip of cider back into the cup, not because she had caught him off-guard—well she actually _had _but he spit because his tongue couldn't take the burning his lips had gotten used to.

"What are you talking about?"

"She says you blow her off whenever she asks you about what you did on your little four-year trip."

"It's my business!" He answered rather defensively, and grew angry that his wife had to bring the issue up with his sister. So _that's_ what they did when they were together. What next, his mother? Then Astrid? _Why_ would Astrid even _care_?

_Women._

They and their tangled webs of manipulation and entrapment. Using each other to pry information, picking at a guy until he broke. _Scheming_. Well…Tuffnut wasn't going to give into their games.

"What's so wrong with telling her the truth?"

And what was the truth? He doubted Ruff even knew. Death, lust, luck—all a variety of things he didn't feel like delving into—especially with Harkin. He had released some of the details to Hiccup, only the vital stuff but the rest he carried—it was for him and him alone to know.

He slumped his shoulders forward and angled himself away from his sister.

"Well here I thought Splint was the only grumpy-pants in the house," she mocked him. He frowned and blew some steam off the cider before taking another swig.

"Hey, don't call my pants grumpy, they are actually comfortable today."

Ruff obviously didn't care what he had done, otherwise she would have tried beating it out of him—he knew from experience. One time when they were young, he had hid her favorite arrowhead in revenge for her losing his and was rendered black and blue by the time she found it hidden in a jug by the water barrel.

The door to the lodge swung open and in stomped Fishlegs, ridding the snow of his boots. Frostbite ran inside directly after, her cheeks rosy from the cold but didn't mind as her face lit up at seeing her uncle.

"Uncle Tuff't!"

"Heya snowdrop," he greeted and stood, letting Fishlegs take a seat. It was situated near the fire and was a good warm place to thaw.

"My names Frostbite!"

He only laughed and then she demanded to be taken on a dragon ride.

"So, how is Harkin?" Fishlegs wondered.

"She's as fine as can be—now mother to _twins."_

He picked up Frost and lifted her above his head, spinning around while she squealed.

"Twins, wow—that was unexpected. Don't those kinds of things skip generations?"

"I thought so—guess I'm just awesome," he was getting dizzy and halted his spinning, letting his niece own where she made a zig-zaggy path before falling into her mother.

"Maybe it's all Harkin, ever think of that?"

He made a '_pft'_ sound of dismissal. Of course it was all him, it _had_ to be—he was the twin of his relationship, and therefore had the magical twin-producing powers. Ruff was just jealous she didn't have them. Though, taking a look of how his sister lovingly peeled the outer-winter layers from her daughter he could tell she liked her children the way they were.

"Well send her my regards, and keep your grubby hands off her for awhile," Ruff said, indicating he had spent enough time there—he had come to do what he needed and that was to inform her of the new family.

"What are the babies?" Frostbite wondered.

"_Cousins_." Fishlegs answered, "You have cousins now sweet cake."

She might not have known what that relation meant but she must have figured she had new potential playmates by the way her face lit up.

He wasn't done with his cider but handed the cup to Fishlegs figuring it would help warm him from the outside. Tuffnut had never even taken off his winter-wear so bid them all a farewell and plowed through the snow back to his own home.

His mother was making some last stitch efforts to constructing some infant coverings. They looked to match, "Oh Mom, you're not going to put them through the matching-clothes phase are you?"

"They won't mind, not until they realize."

The Widow Thorston had made him and Ruff wear matching colors when they were younger. They weren't teased about it until they were older and then decided to ditch the physical twin-ness—and those who made any more comments about it got a fat lip.

"How's the wife?"

"Sleeping."

Of course, she had looked ready to collapse before he'd even left. He went to their room and Harkin was curled up under the many blankets and quilts. Near the wall was a cradle and he approached it. Two babies occupied it and they were snoozing as well. Winter was just a snoozy-type of time. Everything blanketed in snow and cozy warmth concentrated in one place. He grinned and tapped each of his children's noses with affection—just thinking, in a few short years they'd be Frostbite's size-little bite-sized Thorston twins and causing a whole bunch of mischief. He was grateful for both a son and daughter, Harkin and he had done well. Someday he'd get to telling the difference between them.

He turned and threw off his boots and cloak, feeling tired himself as he was up all morning on an edge—for what new father wasn't? He would never have admitted it but he was terrified when Harkin told him she was with child all those moths ago—he didn't know if he'd be a good father, he didn't know how. He had always liked thrills and thought if kids came along they would damper on the excitement and freedom that life offered.

But twins were a thrill; twins could be exciting and knew this because he was one.

He crawled into bed, pulled Harkin over and kissed her on the forehead. It was calm and comfortable, this sleepy silence. A good sort of feeling washed over him; this was the kind of life he never thought he would have, he thought he would never have _wanted _but now that he was living it, couldn't help but to love it.

* * *

**A/N: **OMG Tuffnut and babies...! XD He has his work cut out for him.


	20. A Tolerable Interruption

There was something so addicting in the act of love. Every time Hiccup thought of it, his mind would hit straight to visions of Astrid, unclothed and her eyes half-lidded with always a hint of seduction.

She didn't even have to try.

She had him hooked ever since they were twelve and he noticed the way her newly- developing hips swung when she walked past or imagined what was under that tight striped tunic she wore. Primal attraction—lust—gods even then he felt it. Though he kept those thoughts to himself and saved many-a-bruises.

Not many men were blessed with an everlasting attraction to their wives but when those thoughts had struck him earlier in the day when he was going about business he could have considered it a curse. It was plain to see something distracting was on the Chief's mind.

He had to do something about it.

That night, Hiccup bit his lip to keep from outwardly breaking into a wide uneven smile—even though no one would see and it was dark in the room besides the occasional flash of white from outside. He carefully let his fingers poke the body next to him.

She didn't react in the slightest.

She couldn't have fallen asleep so fast, he had just blown out the candle and she had asked him if he had remembered to latch the door. He said he had.

He walked his fingertips along her waist to the edge of her hip, putting the slightest pressure at the ends to make her aware of his intentions.

"_Now_?"

So she _was_ awake. He didn't like her exasperated tone; he thought she would have been happy for the invitation. They had been so busy lately. Her with the kids, Hiccup with Chief matters that they had barely enough time to do more than kiss each other good morning and goodnight.

What's more, he had yet to tell her that he would be leaving soon to depart for the Eastern continent by invitation of the King of the Danes. So he was desperate for her attention more than ever.

"A man has _needs_, Astrid," He tried to say in a firm voice but knew he could never coax her into anything if she wasn't in the mood.

"A woman _need_s her sleep," she yawned and he felt his hope plummet, but she rolled over to face him nonetheless, "However I think a woman can put off sleep for a bit of well-deserved romance."

She ended her last word with a pleased laugh and it prompted him to grab her and eagerly ride his hand up her nightdress. She only encouraged him with her own tracing fingers along his waistline.

Two children had gone through her but still the skin of her thighs were smooth under his touch, and he was convinced she'd always be the most perfect woman in the world.

A deep roll of thunder sounded from above and they momentarily stopped movement to listen.

"Rain," Hiccup said; they heard the pelting begin above them on the roof.

"Remember that time in the rain?" he heard his wife ask in a breath of dreamy nostalgia.

"How could I ever forget?" he groaned knowing exactly what she referred to, and met his lips to her neck and they were suddenly youths again, back in the shed behind her girlhood home.

A flash and a loud crack of thunder repeated closer, breaking the spell.

"Mighty Thor is throwing a party tonight," she laughed.

"But he's not invited to _ours_," he replied dryly against her skin, daring to take a tiny nip at it.

They failed to hear the pattering of bare feet outside their door and Hiccup could only shout in startlement as the door to their bedroom swung open and suddenly two lumps under the covers had migrated from the bed end up to the headboard.

"What in Great Odin's Ghost—?" Hiccup released her at once and was slightly spooked but the sensation quickly left upon hearing Astrid's familiar laughter.

"Mama!" he heard his youngest whimper and surely cling to her.

"We're gonna die!" His elder son at seven years exaggerated with worry.

His two boys had obviously been frightened by the loud thunder and had sought shelter in the safest place they knew—their parents' bed.

So Hiccup had failed to latch the door to their bedroom after all. Astrid didn't seem to mind but Hiccup was disappointed his activity had been ruined. Was that the price paid for not allowing Thor to join private parties?

Svenan accidentally kicked his father as he tuckered in under the Chief's arm, "Dad, don't let us die!"

"I'm not going to let you die," Hiccup assured.

"Make it stop! Make the funder stop!" little Icky cried with his hands over his ears.

"Yes Biscuit, make the thunder stop," Astrid encouraged him with a hint of humor in her voice. A flash of lightening illuminated the room and he momentarily saw Icky's wide eyes as he was wrapped in Astrid's arms. His sons chose the most inopportune times to interrupt. He gave a quiet groan, knowing the night would never get back on track to his plans for Astrid.

"Don't be frightened. We're inside—the lightening can only hurt you if you are outside," he tried to calm their fear. Maybe he could ease their fear enough to send them back to their own room.

"Can't it break through the roof? Brig told me it can," Svenan claimed.

"Well, it can't," Hiccup rolled his eyes, wondering if Brigid got the idea into her head on her own or if Snotlout had something to do with it.

He wondered if his cousin and Brynna were dealing with the same problem at that moment, no doubt if Brig believed lightning would shoot through their roof. Though considering if they were suffering from the same invasion of youth, their bed was much more crowded. They had more young—now a grand total of three children were occupying the Jorgenson home. And if he wasn't mistaken there soon would be a fourth! Hiccup found it difficult enough to manage two and Astrid was the one who mostly managed them in the first place.

He felt a prick of guilt leaving the responsibility to her, even more guilt at actually leaving her for a few months. Thrice the guilt for not having told her yet.

"But Roofs can catch fire from it!" Svenan insisted and held his hands to his face, "No! We'll burn to death!"

"Calm yourself Svenan," Astrid demanded firmly and scooted closer so their boys were in the middle between them close and safe, "If we can't make the thunder stop we can surely save you from lightening and burning. After all, your father is the Chief, that makes him the strongest and bravest in the world right?"

"Yeh, Daddy's bave!" Icky piped up in relieved cheer and Hiccup felt small fingers brush his beard with admiration.

He only smiled and reached for the young doppelganger's head to ruffle his hair. It was nice to know his sons looked up to him—he had such an easier relationship with them than he had with his own father at their age.

"Don't forget your mommy—she's the bravest and strongest too. She's the wife of the Chieftain, the Chief would never pick anyone less."

She couldn't see but he was staring right in her direction with a smile of adoration plastered on his face. He hoped she'd remember his compliment to her after he did tell her that he was going to be away for a few months. He promised to himself that he'd tell her first thing in the morning, he wanted to keep in company of her pleasant mood for the night.

"Yeah, Mom _is _strong! I saw her lift _two_ buckets of water at _once_," Svenan added.

"Whhhoooaaaa," Icky mused impressed as much as a three-year-old could be.

Astrid laughed as well as he at their son's comment. They had forgotten that such a simple task seemed so amazing to children. He knew she had given herself a routine to follow in order to keep that 'amazing' strength.

Another shot of thunder rang in the night, causing Icky to bury his face into Astrid's bosom and Svenan to flip the fur cover over his head and hide.

Hiccup joined him a moment later under the blankets, "_Mpf_, hey buddy, why you hiding?"

"Thunder is scary. It's louder than a dragon roar and it shakes the ground. You can't fight it to be safe!"

Another boom and suddenly the whole family was snuggled closer as a darker object pounced onto the bed and nearly pushed Hiccup off.

"Gah! Toothless! You're not afraid, I know you're not afraid of thunder!" Hiccup caught himself and pulled upward on the blanket until he was wholly in bed again and couldn't help but to notice the laughter from his wife and sons at what had happened. At least by his expense their minds were off the fear of the storm.

Toothless must have felt left out of the sudden gathering on the Haddocks' bed and so promptly joined.

His attendance was even more evidence of Hiccup's failure to latch the door before bed.

The Night Fury merely gave a dragon purr in response and settled his large body nearly on top of them all.

"Toofless you're squishing me!" they heard Icky complain. The dragon lifted his front paw and Icky squirmed closer to Astrid.

Once they were adjusted—Icky pressed against his mother, Astrid's head laying in the nook of her husband's shoulder, Hiccup reclined on the spine of a dragon Tail curled around their heads, and Svenan snug in the middle—the thunder soon ebbed to low rumbles and Hiccup fell asleep in the company of his wife, sons, and his dragon. It was by far greater a feeling than comfort knowing the good husband, father, protector, and friend he had become.

Though he was not successful at claiming his wife, he daresay the night was even better than he had expected.

* * *

**A/N:** A little Fluffy family chapter for you all. :3 If you've read it on DA, I have added stuff to it. Some big emotional chapters to come...


	21. Unexpected Help

She never thought it would happen again but Astrid found herself more than annoyed with her dear husband. Oh he would occasionally make her blood boil once in a harvest moon due to his absent-mindedness or lenient tenancies but what ire she felt now only tasted of heightened reminiscing because she was washing laundry. Washing laundry and _mad at Hiccup_ hadn't been a pair since that fated summer of their youth—the day Hiccup had proposed to her. It was a bit funny and fast of her to have been hating him in a morning and back to loving him by evening.

Though her current ire stemmed from other issues.

He was gone.

He would hopefully come back but Astrid really didn't appreciate him up and leaving, taking Toothless, his cousin, among a small entourage to visit the Eastern Continent. She knew it was his duty as a diplomatic leader but whisperings of vile happenings were being shuffled in from the west by way of the trader and traveler tongues. Dragon fights, barbarian raids, tyrants rising.

Astrid wasn't afraid of being left alone—Hiccup had even put her in charge which was unorthodox but flattering—but with those thoughts, one wanted a sense of protection. Not that much was happening at the moment, the men had left upon dragon-back instead of ship—it was faster that way—and she reasoned the return would be just as swift. Hopefully the King of Danes would host them only awhile and not keep them over a season.

The air was cold, an odd cool patch in the late spring that caused Astrid to pull out a shawl to wear while washing the clothes and linens.

"Cold weather today."

"It's always cold," Astrid retorted.

Brynna had decided to take the space to her left at the washing stream.

But why did Brynna feel the need to make conversation? Astrid had barely exchanged words with the woman over the eight or so years she had lived in Berk and was content with just that. The woman was just so easy to dislike; she was the reason Astrid's brother had been murdered. Without Brynna around, no one would have guessed he had betrayed the Vikings. Even though the traitorous deed was inexcusable, Astrid's brother was gone and Brynna was one to partly blame, Snotlout the other. Astrid would have rather lived life without knowing the truth and having her brother alive—the only case she could find herself content with ignorance. Brynna had also at one point been betrothed to Hiccup and though Hiccup swore nothing had been between them Astrid still could hold that against the Celt.

There was an etch of a frown in Brynna's brow. She was a lonely woman who had no _real_ friends, only the love of her children and husband. Hiccup was cordial to her, but Hiccup was, by nature, a polite man who strived to make anyone feel included despite a childhood of feeling left out.

Brynna was good at carrying young, she had developed the needed curves for such tasks and it was only proven at once glance to her rotund belly. Inside was the fourth of the Jorgenson litter; Snotlout must have been quite the romancer and Brynna as fertile as the soil of the Southern Island.

Astrid never liked to think herself like Brynna but at the moment they had something in common—missing husbands. Through Astrid suspected Brynna would be having a tougher time handling her three children while one was on the way.

"When does your term end?" Astrid wondered curiously.

"Oh perhaps in a couple weeks, three if I've been counting correctly," Brynna responded with a hint of smile at the hope they could chatter. Astrid had no such plans, it was just a question, not an invitation to chat.

A sense of sadness struck realizing that there was no way Snotlout was going to be able to be there for his child's birth.

She had to admit, it was impressive for Brynna to be up and about being so close to having the child. Astrid had taken it easy the last month even though she had been healthy throughout her pregnancies, just to be safe. Ruffnut should rightly never have children again, her youngest had nearly killed her and her oldest was not without complications.

Brynna kept her small smile as she sorted through her linens.

"Should you be doing this?" Astrid gestured toward the basket of laundry.

"I must. Curran has no more clean breeches and the bed linens are due for a washing."

Astrid actually felt sorry for the Celt. Still, she could do nothing, she had her own laundry to deal with. Her sons were at her own parents's lodge keeping warm. Ever since Stoick had departed, it was harder to find free time for herself and even then it was usually to catch up on cleaning her boys' messes.

Brynna made a noise—it sounded painful.

"What is it?" Astrid turned, mildly concerned.

"Oh just a kick I'm sure—" she actually let the cloth go to hold her side in a small mew of ache. She closed her eyes shut for a moment seeming to get over the minor pain but then her eyes flew open. "No. It's too soon."

Astrid believed her as she had gone through the process thrice prior. Brynna jolted with another sharp shout of pain and in that moment all the loathing Astrid felt toward her had to evaporate as Brynna nearly slumped forward. Astrid caught her and hauled her up, "Come, we're getting you home."

Brynna had begun to cry, silently, but it did not escape Astrid's notice—whether it was from the fear or pain Astrid couldn't know. She tried her best to walk Brynna back to her lodge.

"Get the midwife!" Astrid barked the order at one of the village girls who was also at the washing stream but looked onward awestruck. The girl gave a terse nod, knowing that ignoring the Chief's wife was not in her best interest.

"Come on, only a bit further," Astrid said, holding most of Brynna's weight.

"It's not right," Brynna choked out, "It never felt like this before."

"It will be all right," Astrid lied, only to soothe the woman's frantic nerves. Astrid couldn't imagine the fear of pregnant woman feeling a sudden abnormality.

She finally had made it to the Jorgenson lodge and released one arm to knock. Brigid pulled open the door and immediately saw something was amiss.

"What's wrong with Momma?"

"Brig, can you be a good girl and help me help your momma to her bed?"

Brigid nodded and took her mother's hand, "Come on Momma."

"Thank you darling," Brynna managed to say, taking steps, each seeming to cause her pain.

The other children were playing in the main room but didn't break concentration from their toys. That was good, it was easier having them not to be afraid for their mother if even they could understand the implications of danger she was in.

They managed to get Brynna into the bed, "Is Momma alright?"

Brigid, at seven years, was old enough to see something was wrong however and be fearful.

"I need you to take your brother and sister and go to the Mister and Missus Hofferson's lodge. Svenan and Icky are there, and you, and your siblings stay there until I come get you, you hear me Brig?"

"Yes ma'am," the girl nodded and then hesitated, before scampering out under the concentrated gaze of the Missus Haddock.

"I love you Momma," Brigid kissed Brynna on her cheek. Brynna caught her daughter's hand but didn't say anything only gave a look made of absolute love. The young girl then scurried away to do as she had been told.

Brynna sniffed back a new set of tears before letting out a sharp cry of pain she had been holding back for the sake of her daughter.

The midwife entered then with the apprentice, "What has happened so far?"

"She fell over in pain, I don't know if it's a pre-labor or something else."

"It it doesn't feel right. I have three weeks and—" Brynna shouted then her eyes widened before narrowing into a disheartened squint, "—it has broken."

She meant the water in her, she must have been having contractions—severe contractions that she had never had before.

Astrid had to leave. She couldn't bear to watch a birth and be reminded of the pain. In truth she was scared for Brynna—discrepancy was never a good thing in the process.

Brynna grabbed Astrid's hand as she made way to leave, "Astrid, I'm sorry."

What she was apologizing for wasn't relevant to the current situation. One look in the lady's pained eyes and Astrid knew she meant it about the brother that she had lost because of Brynna. Brynna was thinking the worst, there would be no other reason for her to try and make amends in her current situation.

Astrid just closed her eyes, "You have much more to worry about right now."

She pulled her hand away and left the room to the midwife who was just getting ready for her own labor. She really did hope that Brynna and baby would be alright. The shouts began as Astrid walked away, the same caliber of vocals she had once used while her boys entered the world. The children were gone, Brig had led them away. Good girl. Her five-year-old brother and two year old sister must have been easy to boss around.

Speaking of children, she wondered how her own were doing. They were probably playing with the sheep her parents owned. Her sons were especially fond of the lambs that had been born only a month prior.

She returned to the washing stream and sat at the place she had been before. She glanced over at the basket next to her which had a few linens hanging out. The owner not able to wash them. She took the clothes and bedsheets of the extra basket and added them to her laundry. After all, Curran needed breeches, and he was such a sweet little boy.

Not even a week ago, Astrid had dropped some fruit she had gotten at the market and Cur had been playing with Svenan and didn't hesitate to pick them up for her. Svenan didn't help until they were half-way done, figuring she would chide him for his uselessness.

She went about washing both their laundry and hung them all on the line outside her home. She took time to set out some salted mutton for dinner and add them to the cooking fire so they were slow roasted in time for the evening meal. After that process she found the laundry was dry and went about gathering it to take to Brynna. She was curious to know how if the woman fared, and a bit of dread settled in her as well based upon the earlier sequence of events. She piled the linens in Brynna's basket and carried it back toward the Jorgenson lodge.

When she entered, it was eerily quiet—it had only been a few hours since was last there. Was Brynna's birthing so fast? Women had said the more children they bore had less of a time doing it. Usually.

She cautiously climbed the stairs and gave a small knock.

She nearly jumped back at hearing a small whimper in response and shoved open the door with wide eyes.

There was no midwife, not a sign that anything had ever happened all but for Brynna laying in her bed, her dress pulled down to her shoulders and her face stuffed in a pillow.

When Brynna lifted her head to look at who entered Astrid saw her face was blotchy and wet and her eyes hopeless.

"Brynna—"

"What am I going to tell 'Lout?" it was nearly a squeak of a whisper.

Her heart broke for the unfortunate lady and the painful fact of truth to what had happened.

"He will return expecting a child and now—?" Her voice rose in pitch and couldn't even finish before she burbled incoherently and fell back to her pillow.

Astrid set down the basket and meet Brynna at the side of the bed, "It doesn't matter what he will think right now. What matters is if you feel well, because losing you would cause him much more grievance than a child he'd never known."

Astrid hadn't spoken a word to Snotlout in many years, but knew he didn't feel anything unless it was at one hundred percent. He would be very disheartened at the news, but more thankful Brynna was alive.

Brynna gave a shrug of one shoulder, then rubbed a red eye before renewed tears welled up and she sat forward and clasped Astrid, burying her face into her shoulder.

"I sting something awful and my heart is shattered. It feels so horrible," she could barely hear Brynna mumble through the sniffs and chokes of tears.

Astrid embraced the broken mother, having no doubt of the emotional pain it took on her. She felt ashamed now for thinking so low of a woman she knew to be braver than she could ever be. A lass who was married off to satiate a contract, left the home she had always known only to live with people suspicious of her, and now there was this. Her heart seared further and even caused a bit of moisture fill the insides of her eyes. Brynna was a rightful mess and needed comfort.

"Listen to me," Astrid pulled her off and kept holding her hands, "You will get through this. You have _three_ beautiful children who are well and someday you might even have another one. I'm sorry."

She could see the hopelessness raging in Brynna's green eyes. Brynna was either cursing the Gods or herself but she had to realize it was no one's fault. Things like so just happened, and with a fair amount of regularity. The north was harsh, and Brynna had found out in the worst of ways. Astrid knew she had been a lucky woman not to have had any misfortunes involving childbirth and was thankful.

"Do you want something warm to drink?"

Those hauntingly sad eyes that stared into nothing rolled to the side and the woman took in a bedraggled sniffle before she nodded weakly.

Astrid went to work, familiarizing herself with where Brynna kept the necessities for food and drink. She put a pot of water over the hearth to boil it for mixing and also added more firewood for good measure in case the lodge should get drafty. While waiting for the water to boil she left and went to retrieve the Jorgenson children as well as her own from her parent's lodge and set them about being useful, folding the laundry in the main room.

"Is Momma all right?" Brig persisted, "Why can't I see her?"

"She's resting, she will see you when she feels better."

"Momma's sick?" Cur looked up worriedly.

"Not sick, just tired."

"Momma!" the littlest of the children chirped in a mimic.

Astrid picked up the girl to rock her. Astrid couldn't remember her name, never even made the attempt to try. Any news of the Jorgensons she knew from passing gossip or her husband. The youngest was a cute little thing, didn't talk much though. Icky wasn't able to shut up at her age—eager to say every new word he learned.

"What about the baby?" Brig persisted in interrogation.

A dread rose in Astrid, and knew it wasn't her place to explain such things so she sighed instead, "You're momma will tell you about the baby when she feels well enough."

"Why do we have to stay here?" Svenan asked. He was done with folding the pile she had assigned to him.

"I'm not leaving you and your brother by yourselves at home."

"Brig's mom does it to her all the time!"

"That's because Brigid does not misbehave while her mother is away," Astrid meant to give the two scamps her 'look' indicating them as the guilty.

She balanced the child on her hip and finished preparing Brynna a warm beverage. She decided to take both of them up to the woman.

"Momma!" the girl gave a small needing whine at sight of her mother.

"Little flower," Brynna held out her arms and Astrid gladly let her down. The toddler settled in her mother's embrace and Astrid couldn't help but to be affected by such a sight. Brynna embraced her youngest tightly, like she never wanted to let go.

"The children have returned but I told them you were resting," Astrid mentioned and handed Brynna the mug of warm liquid.

She blew on it and took a sip, still seeming worse for wear.

"Brigid asked about the baby."

Brynna gave a small choke and swallowed her drink, "And what did you say?"

"I told her you would tell her about it when you were better."

"Am I going to be better?"

"I should hope so."

Brynna gave her a suspicious look, "Why are you being so kind to me?"

"Because if I were in your place, I would want the same kindness and comfort after such a trial."

The little girl was playing with a strand of Brynna's auburn hair, twisting a curl and letting it bonce upwards while smiling. The little lass already had a few freckles just like her mother.

"I thought you hated me."

Indeed Astrid had offered unexpected help for doing nothing previously in her life for the Celt. She couldn't fault Brynna for being curious or suspicious about it.

Astrid sat on the end of the bed, deciding to make a sincere attempt to prove otherwise. Hiccup always took the high road, even with those he wasn't fond of. Maybe it was time Astrid learned to be like that.

"If that were true, do you think I would have returned?"

Brynna let her chin rest on her daughter's head and after a moment shook her head back and forth wordlessly.

"Now, why don't you tell me what this little flower's name is? I never quite caught it," Astrid smiled and took a hand of the little girl and shook it, "I always wanted a daughter but Frigg equipped me with rambunctious sons."

Brynna actually smiled at Astrid's comment, "Finola."

"That's Celtic?"

"Aye. All my children are named so. Brigid, Curran, and Finola."

"How did you get Snotlout to agree to it?"

"Oh, you know how he likes to re-name everything his way. He agreed on the name if they could be shortened to harsh words that could deflect northern nightmares."

Astrid nodded, she knew about the trolls and gnomes. She also knew Brig and Cur by their short names. One meaning a holding place for criminals in a vessel and the other a despicable man.

"So he calls her..?" she nodded at Finola.

"Fin."

_And a fish part._

"It may be good for I couldn't think of another name, boy nor girl that could fit into both worlds," Brynna began to tear, snuggling Fin who was still entertaining herself with her mother's curls.

But Astrid couldn't say anything to make the thought go away or be less painful. It would be on Brynna's mind for a long time. She removed herself, "I will take leave now. I have washed and brought your laundry, the children have folded them, and I will send a village girl to help with food and the children until you are well enough to move, I will inform Spite—"

"Can you send Brigid and Curran to me?"

Astrid nodded in acquiescence, convinced that Brynna was the bravest woman in the world and that was admirable indeed. All she wanted was her children around her. "I will, and I will return tomorrow to see if you need anything."

"Astrid?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

She bowed her head in return and left.

Svenan and Brigid were playing with a puzzle that Snotlout must have bought off a merchant. It was made of wood and pieces fit together to create a dragon shape. Icky was playing with Cur and they took turns hitting sticks on various objects in the room that made a _clang_-ing sound.

"Brigid, your mother wishes to see you. You too Curran."

They stopped and scrambled up the stairs.

"Can we go home now?" Icky tugged on Astrid's skirt and looked up in wonder. He looked tired, he had missed his nap.

She picked him up and gave him a good long hug, hating to think of ever losing him or Svenan the younger. She wouldn't know how to handle such a thing.

Brynna could, Astrid knew it—even after everything the woman had been through. Brynna might not have fought in a battle, nor wielded any great weapons but she was by far stronger and braver than Astrid—even if Astrid could only admit it to herself silently. This day had been proof.

She took in a ragged breath, not even realizing she had been holding it because a deep realization set in her and saddened her.

That after all this time, and under such tragic circumstances she was finally able to forgive Brynna.

* * *

A/N: :(


	22. Mother's Reward

Astrid had to make a quick errand to the dockside market and she trusted that her son, Svenan who was eight years old, could keep an eye on his younger brother by three years, Icky for a short time. All she needed was a basket of fish for her family and for the Night Fury that kept residence. Usually she'd just have her Husband or even Toothless supervise the children but they had both been called away to a matter of affairs only the Chieftain could handle. In this case the matter involved a man named Calvin who had returned the day before and Hiccup seemed to occupy most of his time since then keeping tabs on him. Her husband wouldn't explain _why_ the man was of such interest, though she did recall he had vanished a few years ago without word and was assumed dead. But as Tuffnut had proven, being thought dead was not really dead—and those cases in which it seemed to happen spooked Hiccup the most. She just wished Hiccup would straighten it out and be around more often.

It took no more than ten minutes for her to arrive, make the purchase and return home—how much could go wrong in ten minutes? Astrid knew the answer but was feeling optimistic that day.

Her Nadder had followed her the whole way, begging for a fresh fish but Astrid only allowed her one since she knew the dragon could very well fish on her own. She was just lazy and thought herself entitled.

And as soon as Astrid opened the door to the Haddock lodge, there were her sons standing in the middle of the room and smiling at her. Why Frigg, why couldn't she have had _daughters_? She knew those nervous smiles all too well.

Svenan wore his father's lopsided smile of innocence which he had perfected and had been using on her since he was old enough to walk. However ,she had grown wiser to his attempts to cushion the reprimands and that smile wouldn't let him slide by without punishment like it had in the past.

Icky looked just as Hiccup had at that age—a dark brunette with multitudes of freckles but his giveaway face was when his larger front teeth poked out slightly as he bit his bottom lip in a shy grin.

And nothing gave away their mischief more than the cries of:

"_Hi mom! Mom hi! How was market? Hello Mom, getcha some fish_?—"  
as well as, "_Mama! Hey Mama! Mama hello!_"

All their words were layering over one another until she didn't know which boy was speaking.

She set down the basket roughly, already presuming to have to chide them for breaking something or for doing something they were not supposed to and trying to hide it.

Her Nadder let out a pleased chatter at seeing the basket unguarded and made an attempt to nab a morsel from behind. She managed to succeed in getting one before Astrid batted her large head out the way of the front door and closed it.

He sucked in a breath and focused back to her suspicious-acting sons. Her eyes wandered from them and around the room to sight anything misplaced or out of the ordinary.

"Oh!" she gasped, her eyes landing on the wall behind them, seeing a large charcoal drawing, "SVENAN HICCUP HADDOCK, I thought I told you that drawing on the—"

"No! No! It was Icky's idea! He told me to—"

"We've had this discussion before, you can't blame Icky for _your_ mischief! You know drawing on walls isn't allowed. Go to your room and stay there until your father returns."

She pinned him as the great mind behind the disallowed shenanigan. No doubt he had convinced Icky to join in so both of them would get into trouble if caught. Daft boys they were, how could they even think to sneak such an endeavor past her? It was in plain view!

She pointed sternly to the upstairs and Svenan's face fell. He punched his brother in the arm while passing, "See? I told you she'd _hate_ it."

She kept an eye on him as he trudged to their room.

She spotted Icky creeping out of her peripheral vision, "Not so fast young Stoick, you haven't escaped punishment either. Get a washing rag, you are helping to clean."

She carried the basket to the cellar and put the fish in a barrel to keep them cool and fresh for the week. She wiped her hands, her face, and when she returned to the main room, Icky hadn't moved an inch. Astrid clapped her hands in frustration to break his seemingly occupied mind, "Did you not hear me young man? You need to help clean the mess that you and your brother made!"

She was quite irked at her little rascals. She could have been spending time doing other things, _productive_ things instead of reprimanding and cleaning her sons' messes.

"But Mama, I don't wanna to make it go away—" he said quietly, his fists beating together as he rocked on his feet and avoided looking her in the eye.

"Do you want to go to a time-out like Svenan?" Astrid threatened and he shook his head vigorously, "Then you will clean."

"Why don't you like your present?"

_Present_?

"What are you talking of, Icky?"

"I thought we'd draw you a picture and give it to you. Svenan said it was a bad idea but I didn't know why you'd not like a present."

She stared dumbfounded and watched him as he took advantage of her silence and scurried over to the wall pointing at the lines, "This is daddy 'cause he had a beard and his furry cloak. That's me because I have a lots of freckles."

He pointed to a rounded shape with a bunch of dots.

"That's Toofless, Svenan drew him with his teef out and next to him is Svenan because he wants to fly Toofless someday. Then there's you, Mama—next to Daddy, I dew your hair long like I see it at night time."

Astrid had no words, all she felt was her heart take to flight. She lifted her hand to her mouth to hide her growing smile and felt surprising moisture biting at the corners of her eyes at the overwhelmingly simple and innocent and absolutely endearing gesture of love her sons had created. The way Icky explained the drawing didn't help sustain her glee—drawing of her family, meant for Astrid only and no others.

"Icky, come here," Astrid demanded seriously after she wiped her eye and contained her grin from bursting again.

He approached cautiously and she abruptly grabbed him and lifted him up. He squealed in surprise and slight fear, but she just squeezed her little boy most lovingly. "I love it, Icky—I _adore_ it, Thank you."

She kissed him on the cheek and set him down.

"So we don't have to make it go away?" He asked hopefully.

"No. I never want it to go away. Go upstairs and tell your brother I want to speak to him."

Icky had a renewed energy as he ran up the stairs two at a time. Astrid's smile could no longer fit her face as she studied the drawing further. She could distinguish clearly which parts Svenan had drawn and where Icky had added.

She tilted her head; Icky's art was mostly abstract squiggles for hair and freckles and 'furry' garments. Svenan's depiction of Toothless was quite good for a eight-year old though his proportions were silly; they all had bigger heads than usual. Oh well, that was the way with art. He must have got that talent from Hiccup.

Astrid couldn't draw very well which was annoying because her own father was an artist of sorts when he wasn't shearing sheep, so she figured she would have inherited something of an artistic bone. It seemed all the bones in her were suited for fighting and agile movement.

"Mom?" she turned and saw a sour-faced Svenan and immediately felt bad for reprimanding him earlier without letting him explain.

"I apologize for yelling at you. Icky explained to me that this wasn't just you two doodling on the walls because I was away—that it was supposed to be a present."

"Yeah, because we thought you're such a _good _mom," Svenan added, buttering her up and she didn't care—it was still so wonderful to hear those words.

She knelt down and gave him a crushing hug, "I'm so sorry, honeyoats."

"It's okay Mama," he insisted and patted her either to comfort her or let her know he couldn't breathe anymore.

She looked the drawing again and realized the charcoal was easily removable.

"So, now that I know it's my present, how will go about making it last forever?" She had an idea in mind but baited her son for the answer.

"Paint!" Svenan threw up his arms with utter excitement. He rarely got to use paint on anything. Most paint was used on longships or shield designs and it was a long process to distill it.

However, Astrid knew how to pull a few strings since her father was a shield artist. She knew he kept a few bottles of paint in the back shed of the Hofferson lodge.

Within the hour she had snuck a few containers from her childhood home and for the rest of the afternoon she and her sons delightfully added color to the heartwarming mural with boar-hair brushes. She never felt like being productive that day anyway, and making a mess was ten times better then mundane housekeeping.

Every so often she'd playfully dot her son's cheeks with a bright red or cool blue and they would giggle as if this was the most fun thing they'd ever done.

"Toofless isn't blue!" Icky exclaimed seeing Svenan paint the dragon drawing just that.

"There is no black!"

Icky narrowed his eyes and seemed to just barely accept his elder brother's excuse.

When they were done Astrid helped them clean and they were more than happy to help do it.

"Do you like it with color?" she asked them.

They both nodded wholeheartedly.

"I do too," she whispered and kissed them both, telling them to wash up for dinner.

As they ran out toward the wash stream, her husband had returned from a day of Calvin-watching, he might deny it but she knew he was suspicious of the man—just didn't know why. The boys cheered at Toothless who immediately took to playfully chasing after them.

"Are they bleeding?" Hiccup asked alarmed, pointing as they passed. He must have caught sight of the red paint.

Astrid laughed, "No."

Her laugh made him feel there was no cause for concern. He turned and immediately his eyes widened at seeing his wife standing in front of a colorful wall that had not been like that when he had left that morning.

"Wha—? Odin!"

"Do you like it? It's our sons' present to _me_," she nearly gloated and waved her hand in a arc presenting the wall. Hiccup stepped forward his eyes taking it all in while Astrid interpreted it, "It's our family."

"I like it, but do you? I know how you get about drawing on the walls—"

He had even dare done it too when he ran out of parchment and needed to sketch something urgently. That caused them to fight and in the end she made him clean it up as well.

She pressed her fingers to his lips, wondering if he could taste the paint, "I love it almost nearly as much as you."

He smiled and leaned in for a kiss but her painted fingers stopped him still, "Although, I want to know why you are so worried about this Calvin fellow. Why did he leave in the first place?"

Hiccup twisted his face up, "He said there was a family emergency—but I still think it's suspicious that he had to leave without a word nor trace."

He pulled away and seemed to start a pace, "And then he just _returns_ out of nowhere after years of being gone. So I'm worried of his intentions, naturally."

"Besides his abrupt disappearance and return, he seemed fine. Your father was quite fond of him I recall and you know Stoick was hard to impress in a small amount of time—" Hiccup gave an abrupt derisive snort at her comment, nonetheless she continued, "so why can't you just let it go and spend some time with us—spend time with your sons?"

"You think I don't want to?"

"I didn't say tha—"

He took her hand and reeled her into an embrace, "There's nothing more I want than to spend every moment with my family—but I'm required to be more than just a husband and father."

She let her head rest on his shoulder, feeling disheartened at having to share him with the world, although the world probably would not be as well off without him. She had missed him terribly the five months he was away in the continent, and felt she was owed some time with him to make up for all that was denied her in those months. But it hadn't been, she was still waiting for a day where they could spend it together like they had at the start of their marriage.

She felt his fingers brush her chin to guide her gaze upward and that was when he finally got his kiss—a silent promise that the time for them and _only_ them would come soon—and she happily gave it to him.

Svenan and Icky came rushing back home on top of a Night Fury's back, clean and all three with hungry stomachs. Svenan halted them in the doorway and Icky crashed into him from behind the mount.

"Oh gross Mom! Dad stop doing that! Kissing is _icky_!"

"_I'm_ not kissing!" Icky objected with a four-year-old offense.

The Haddock's unlocked their lips and shared that look understood only by them of how perfectly wonderful their family was at times.

The proof now showcased to the world on the wall of their home.

* * *

**A/N: **Whhhat? Calvin returns? o.O If you read this on DA it apparently has some new parts ;) Four more chapters left...

OH! and there is a picture related to the beginning of this chapter called 'Haddock sons' on DeviantArt for any of you visual people :D


	23. Alone

**A/N: **Okay readers, some stuff I need to say about this:

1) A lot of this chapter is in reference to what was discussed in 'Toughest Part of Life', a side piece I wrote about Tuffnut. Just FYI if you don't know the sources.

2) I'm slapping an **M** rating for this chapter just due to all the mature content. A lot of serious Sh** goes down, there's swearing, violence, and at parts slight suggestive nature so if you aren't comfortable with reading **M** ask me for a G rated-recap and I can fill you in.

* * *

For once it was a rare, quiet night in the old Thorston Lodge. Tuffnut's children had been put to bed, his mother was asleep. She was growing old, and she fell asleep earlier and earlier only to wake earlier and earlier. Though aged she was still a fierce piece of work when provoked.

Tuffnut sat in the smoking parlor and was finishing up with skinning the kills he had caught in his traps. He would set them at the beginning of the week and check them every three days. Usually he'd get small mammals—mink, rabbit, or even a fox. He sold their fur or supplied it to his mother to use in clothes. Since it was winter, fur lined garments were in demand from clients. He didn't need the income though. Ever since he had returned he was considered one of the more wealthy villagers.

It was late as far as the night went but his wife was still awake. She sat across from him and watched him skin the animals. Even now though he was concentrating on his blade, he could sense that she adored him. It reminded him of the times when they were younger and she was a curious little thirteen year old wondering about the ways of hunting and the like.

"You know, you can help if you want," he mentioned. She knew how to skin; he had taught her. She was probably better at it even with her smaller hands and more precise cutting.

"Oh no please, by all means," she smiled. He held her cheeks in her hands and had one brow raised—she was waiting for him. She wanted him. He only cracked a grin and gave a low whistle, severing the furred flesh from the rabbit he was currently working on.

He was almost finished anyway; once he was done Harkin could have her way with him.

"I bet you can't finish before I count to ten," she challenged. Gods she was impatient.

He looked down and saw he only had a small patch left, he knew he could make it.

"What do I get if I win?"

"Whatever you want," she pressed her lips together mischievously. He liked the sound of that.

"And on the off-chance I don't win?"

"You give me whatever I want."

"You're on," he grinned wickedly.

"One."

He snaked the blade under the skin and maneuvered it upward. Downward was the proper way to do it but he thought himself good enough not to tear the skin and fur.

She was up to the count of five and he began to worry because he had hit a tendon and didn't want to hack at the carcass and make a mess but he didn't want to lose either, even though a paltry sort of challenge it was.

He was two inches off by the time, _'ten_' made it past her lips.

"I win," was the brief indication of cheer and triumph.

He finished it off a second later and submerged the skin into a bucket of red-tinged water to rinse the under-liquids off. He was disappointed that he had underestimated the time-to-skill ratio, but figured Harkin would make her request fun—she always had that way about her.

"You won," he nodded, and wrung the skin out. He stretched it over a rack for drying, "So what do you want, love?"

She hesitated for a moment and before she could even ask he knew what she wanted and he frowned.

"I want to know—"

"_No_."

She frowned and pursed her lips, "But you said you'd give me _anything_ I wanted."

"Harkin we have been through this, those matters and that past is behind me. I'm not going to say another word about it, do you understand?"

She stubbornly ignored him, "But how did you come across your wealth?"

"Harkin—"

"And what happened in that ship collision? How did you—"

He felt himself prickling. It had been at least a year since she had last inquired and they had fought and by the end she told him she had accepted his choice not to say. Now she was at it again and he was growing a headache already. This was close to a 'nagging' wife she'd ever gotten. He didn't want to tell her that he'd made love to more women that he could count, he didn't want to tell her about how he caused the deaths of many good men, and he didn't want her to know just how much of a killer he actually was. He only wanted her love and was sure it would be lost if he ever spoke about the truths his venture entailed.

"I'm not talking about this!"

"Where did you even go? Why can't I know?"

"Harkin, you said you would leave it be. Now hush up." He turned away, suddenly thrown into a sour mood.

"How can you not be honest with me about your life?"

She grabbed his arm in a near yank, insistent she know.

That's when his patience had run out, because he was only refusing to tell her to keep from lying, and yet she was calling him a liar—what else could she insinuate by telling him he _wasn't honest? _Omitting was not exactly straight up lying. She was digging her nails into issues she promised she would let be anyhow.

"Tuff!" she boldly gave another yank, trying to gain an answer.

Tuff's anger boiled over and before he could stop himself or realize what he was doing, the back of his hand met to Harkin's cheek and she crumbled to the ground holding her face.

The whole world seemed to still.

She was staring up at him—fear and shock—all which transformed to anger that smoldered behind her fabulous turquoise eyes. All the air had been sucked out of the room, it seemed. His chest was tight, his anger had evaporated as soon as he took a look at his young wife on the floor who looked at him as though he were a stranger.

The silence was painful and paralyzing.

"Harkin," he said quietly, regrettably and reached out to help her up but she recoiled and did not take his hand. "Harkin. I'm sorry."

She shook her head, did not say a word but managed to bring herself to stand and avoided at any advances he made toward her—suddenly unwillingly playing a game of cat and mouse. He stepped forward but she turned away.

"Damn it, I'm sorry!" he shouted as she fled and climbed the stairs, never looking back.

His anger was transferred to the fact that she wouldn't forgive him and wouldn't speak to him. Why couldn't she have just shut up about it? He had sincerely apologized, _twice_ even. He'd have to wait for her to cool and then have a talk with her in bed.

A few minutes later he heard a noise and looked up to see his wife carrying a sleepy Briarprick and holding the hand of a bleary-eyed Bludgeonstick. They all were wrapped up in layers.  
"What are you doing?"

"Leaving," she said, it was a physical punch and it's severity jerked him to realizing the weight of his actions.

"What? You can't do that! It's after dark, it's the middle of winter, where are you going? You can't take _my_ children!"

"They're _my _children as much as yours and I can't leave them with a volatile father so we're going anywhere but here," her voice was hollow, tight—a guarded wall keeping her sadness and anger from spilling over. He knew it, he had seen her do it in extreme moments of devastation. When she was told her father died, when she had told him of her violation. And now he, who had once caused her the most joy had caused that wall to go up around her.

"I_ said_ I was sorry," Tuff reminded her in a small voice, his anger growing again from the desperation to have her stay.

"You also _said_ you would never let anyone or anything hurt me ever again yet you did and I'm not staying here another second to be reminded of it," she replied coldly, throwing his words back at him.

Perhaps then a tear had managed to spill as she turned her back to him a final time that evening, "Come on, my stars, we're leaving"

"But momma, where are we going?" Briar asked in a yawn setting her head on Harkin's shoulder.

"Shh darling, all will be well."

No, all was not _well _and he was impressed with how smoothly she let that lie slip off her tongue to his daughter. How hypocritical of her to accuse _him_ of lying.

He stepped forward, intending to stop them, telling himself he wouldn't allow this but she threw a hard glance at him—daring him to come after her and she would release the fury of Hel upon him. So he was left standing there, imploding with anger and regret. She had left. Did that mean she did not love him anymore? He let out a frustrated bellow at her and at himself.

He stewed for a few minutes, disbelieving. Not even ten minutes before they were ready to make love and now it was just—_gone_. He focused on the heavier issue at fault—how could he have done that? He had broken his promise. She had always, _always _stood by his side, admired him, and loved him and he had not appreciated it for the longest while. Harkin was his love, and now she was gone, and so therefore all his love was gone with her.

He made a dizzy way to the tavern to see if he could drown out the night's misfortunes in ale. It was very late for any respectable family man but the bachelors were out and merry. They took note of the sullen Thorston but did not make attempts to ask or console for it would only bring their cheer down.

There were men from port, travelers staying while winter froze all passage and kept themselves busy at market or hunting. He rather didn't like them treading on his hunting grounds but there was enough fauna to chase.

"What is the deal with women?" Tuff grumbled, mostly to himself. He still was torn on who was at fault. He didn't just _hit_ her for no reason so tried to convince himself she had overreacted but then again, was the reason enough to do _that_ to her. He had asked her to stop, she had agreed and she was the one who had lied for she spoke of it again. His mind was going in circles looking for justification.

"Women trouble?" A man heard Tuff's mumblings and heartily laughed.

"Yes. Lots of trouble." he sighed and threw back a swig of ale.

"If a women gives you trouble you just let her know who is in charge, she'll bend to your will."

Tuff raised a brow, knowing that's not the way he wanted to gain her back for that was how he had lost her. Maybe other men did that to their women, but Tuff didn't want to be just another violent, drunk husband. He looked at his ale with disgust and pushed it away knowing he was halfway there. He wiped his hands over his face and glanced at the man next to him.

"So, you here long?" Tuff asked, not recognizing the man who had addressed him so assumed him to be a man of port. He had a jagged scar from under his eye to his lip.

"Until Spring when the bay thaws."

"Well enjoy what Berk has to offer," Tuff shrugged in return, uninterested.

"I've been satisfied with Berk before," the man grinned, indicating he wasn't a newcomer.

"Oh?"

"These barmaids of Berk, they are always the prettiest of girls. I'm taking a liking to that one," the man waved a hand at a tall blonde tending their side of the bar, "What about you?"

"I'm married."

"Oh sir, you have a whole other world of problems than those of just 'women trouble' Still though, is it not fun to graze?"

Tuff eyed the blonde that the man had indicated. She was younger than them both, pretty but did nothing for him. He really couldn't imagine anything more provocative than Harkin when she was in the mood.

"Nay, my wife outshines all stars in Valhalla."

"I am jealous, give me a description of your fine lady."

Tuff smiled and all but gloated, "My wife is stubborn, though very loyal—she has hair the color of pine bark and eyes of turquoise. She loves to laugh. She is fun—"

Then he had to stop, noting that hungry gaze the man was laying into their server. It was more than lust.

The man smiled roguishly with a satisfied sigh, apparently still attentive to Tuff's claims "Turquoise eyes—I had me a piece of barmaid with those color eyes. She had the tightest-"  
Tuff had been listening but then a horrible piece settled on him at finally _hearing_ and he shoved back abruptly, a near blinding rage hitting every part of him.

He knew without a doubt _this_ was the nameless bastard that had pillaged Harkin while Tuffnut had been away. He had a scar, the wound that Harkin must had given him in her fight to escape and this bastard had even the gall to brag about taking her and make it sound like she had consented even.

"What's the issue?" the man asked though it was shallow and unconcerned. It took all the willpower in Tuff not to slit the man's throat right then and there.

"I have to go," Tuff choked under a glower. He tossed a coin to their bar wench and hastily left the tavern. He emerged into the cold, wanting to go to his wife and hold her and prove to her that she meant everything to him. He didn't care anymore, he wasn't angry he just wanted her to come back. But it wasn't possible; he didn't even know where she had gone.

_Alone._

And what about that man? The incidence had happened long ago still the anger wasn't any less that Tuff felt since the day Harkin had told him of it. He hated now that he could put a face to the image of another man having her.

It was later. It was impossibly darker and Tuff still had yet to go home, unknowing what he should do but he should make a decision soon as he would surely freeze to death, the only reason keeping him thawed was the ale he'd consumed and the heat of his anger. The tall blonde wench emerged from the tavern. He could barely make her out by the light of the moon but something was odd. A shadow seemed to be following her. Like he supposed, the bastard was following the girl probably with he same intentions he had the night he followed Harkin to prey upon. Tuff ran his fingers across the handle of his dagger, itching to unsheathe it and plunge it into that man's body, but he waited.

He followed them. His hunting skills were put to use in the way he stealthily seemed to never sink into the crunchy snow and alert his presence.

All it took was the sudden startled shout of the girl for Tuff to lunge out and sink the blade into the body that intended to dominate. He kept his hand over the mouth to muffle any shouts and withdrew the dagger only to shove it in again at a different location—a vital organ that began to bleed out; he could tell by the warm blood that seeped out into his palms. He ignored the struggle, keeping the fading body pinned under his strength and didn't say a word. All the noises heard were the girls panicked breaths as she fled them and then the bloody gurgling of the pillager.

Tuff didn't feel any remorse for what he had done. In his mind, he had done the world a favor. This man had forced Harkin to her knees and had stolen her maidenhood and for that Tuff was thankful he could kill the scum.

He left the body there, not even in the good mood to dispose of it. Let him bleed out in the snow, in the alley until an unfortunate person found his corpse—a testimony to his own treachery with his trousers loosened and signs of a struggle.

He washed his hands of the man's blood. Tuff knew it was murder but he just couldn't bring himself to let that man live. He had taken his frustrations out on a worthy victim. He gagged a bit at the thought of the wretch pillaging his wife before she was his wife. It didn't matter if she was unspoken for at the time, it was still very wrong to do that to a fifteen year old girl. He spit into a bowl, trying to rid himself of the bad taste of that evening. He fell across his wide bed, his wide empty bed and yearned for Harkin's warm body and knew he would give anything to take back how he had hurt her that night.

As soon as he entered the main room in the morning he knew something was wrong. His mother was not preparing breakfast as she usually did. It was cold and empty, just as his bed was the night before. His stomach grumbled. He checked the status of his skins, they were still damp.

The door opened and the Widow Thorston entered looking displeased as she ever did. Without a word she approached her son and backhanded him across the face, "I know I raised you rough and tough but I absolutely did not raise you think it fine to strike a women."

He held his face, shocked that his mother had done it, had enough strength for it to smart. She had given him a taste of his own medicine. She had to have known what he did and he was immediately ashamed.

"But Mom—"

"There are no excuses Tuffnut Thorston, I'd hate to see you become your father."

"Dad never hit you!"

"Not my dear Ivan son, the man you were named after."

Tuffnut's guts felt punched. She was referring to the man they had all but buried in the back of their minds. The crude and harsh Tuffnut Senior who had beaten his mother enough to warrant her to ask for a permanent speration. She re-married to Ivan the Invincible when they were just toddlers, and so Ivan was the only father the twins had ever known—a good father who had been taken before his time. Tuffnut Senior had left the island nearly ten years ago and had never returned.

"I don't blame her for leaving."

His mother words stung him more than her hit. His voice was small, "Do you think she will leave me for good?"

His mother's scowl lightened just a bit at her son's hopelessness. His regret was encompassing his entire being and she could see he was truly sorry.

"I can't say."

Tuff frowned and his heart sunk a bit more into its dark pool.

"But she'll come back?"

"You have to give her time. You understand that you are her protector and you turned on her. She's not taking to it well she has to have time to think. I let the twins stay because her children will remind her of her love for you-after all they would not be exist without the love between you.".

He could try to order her to return but if he did that Harkin would just stubbornly go on being angry, and possibly could take the issue up with Hiccup. Tuff didn't want that, he didn't want the whole world knowing about it.

"How did _you_ know?" he asked his mother.

"I woke and not by my grandchildren's calls and I knew it was unseemly."

He then realized, it would be impossible for anyone _not _to notice that Harkin and the twins were not there anymore, "Everyone will know."

"If they don't already."

He groaned, becoming mortified to know that the village would know that his wife had left his bedside because he hurt her. They would look down on him, and though he knew he deserved it somewhat, didn't make him want it common-knowledge.

"You have to face the consequences."

"I didn't want to do it though, it just _happened_."

"Stop making excuses," she snapped, "You will learn from this. If and when Harkin does return you will _never_ hit her again."

And he knew it, Odin he knew.

"She's at Ruff's then?"

His mother nodded solemnly. "I suggest to leave her be."

He tried anyway. He found himself at the Ingerman Lodge knocking on the door.

"What do _you_ want?" Ruff answered and barricaded the doorway with her body but Fishlegs was much better at it. His bro-in-law must have been working at market for he was absent. Tuff could see through to the inside.

"_I_ want to see _my_ family."

"Daddy! Daddy!" Bludgeonstick managed to squeeze out through Ruff's legs and clasp onto Tuff's at hearing his voice.

Tuff picked him up and threw him and caught him, his son exhilarated at the few seconds of flight. "Heya kid!"

"Dadddddyyyy!" Briar squealed, also appearing but Ruff couldn't stop them from hanging on their father. If they were like this after a few hours, how could she think to keep them any longer?

"Daddy where've you been?"

He looked down and studied his daughter's earnest face; both of them had turned three years of age not even a week prior and he wouldn't be able to bear watching them grow up under another's roof. Before he could give her an answer that was simple without having her tumble out a cascade of '_why',_ they all heard a harsh recall from inside.

"Children!"

_Harkin. _

Tuff set down Bludgeon and looked inside but Ruff moved into his view. The twins scampered indoors to their mother's call.

Once Ruff let up for the twins' entrance Tuff charged in and Ruff tried all the world to stop him, "She doesn't want to see youButt-elf. Get lost!"

"Just let me talk to her!"

"WHY? So you can _hit_ her again?"

Ruff was fierce in her words, and he wasn't aware that his sister had liked his wife that much to protect her from him.

Tuff grabbed Ruff by her face and glared, suppressing his will to shake her a good one. His glare let up, noting his anger and he could only sigh and set his head to hers, "Please Ruff. Please, please, _please_ let me see her. I promise nothing will happen."

Ruff apprehensively agreed, seeming to be surprised at her brother at shedding all pride and reduced to begging. IT was proof enough he was willing to do whatever it took to have Harkin again.  
Harkin was in the kitchen feeding a bit of bread to their son.

She looked up startled and gasped, immediately bringing a hand to her face. She must have counted on Ruffnut to beat him away.

One glance at the physical shadow on her face and Tuff could have died. She covered it but it hadn't been quick enough. That was his fault, and he was disgusted with himself, to see her marked like that caused him to know without a doubt that he was never good for her. He should have never convinced himself he was.

"What are you doing here?" her voice was small, off-guard.

"I wanted to talk to you."

"What is there to say Tuffnut?" the wall was up again, apparently her anger was the only thing that kept her assured.

"I'm sorry, please bring the kids and come home."

She considered his words which gave him hope, she shooed the children out of the room to play with his niece and nephew and said quietly, "You could do it again."

What he heard then struck him, he detected a hint of fear in her. She was afraid of him.

"No, no I couldn't because I can't stand myself even now. I can't stand what happened because of it."

He came closer, cautiously and took her hand. She let him but her whole body tensed.

"I'm sorry," he said yet again and kissed her on the forehead. She pulled away but he put slight pressure on her hand through his in a squeeze.

"Don't leave."

She had always ever been the one to request such a thing but for once Tuff felt the striking sting of being abandoned.

"Why should I stay?"

"Because I love you."

"You don't hit those you love."

He winced, "I made a mistake, Harkin."

"It seems I did too," she said softly looking at him with a vast disappointment. Everything was spoken in her look. They had rushed into a union in order not to be alone, they carried strong feelings about each other but was that enough for them? Both selfish and stubborn in their ways and with lies that so easily slipped off their tongues. Now they both were more isolated than they had ever been from each other. She feared him, she didn't trust him—he was regretful and sincere but how would he ever convince her to believe him?

Her words caused everything in him to collapse. His brain began to pound against his skull as it filled with heartbreak proving once and for all he loved her more than anything to cause a hurt well up in him so bad it could be compared to getting a knife wrenched in the abdomen.

"Please Harkin, don't leave me alone."

_Alone_, a word he thought he would never have to think of again.

"Just leave. I—I can't be around you right now—" she said but that wall wavered.

She pulled further away and he couldn't bear to let her go so he fell to his knees, grasping her around the legs and pressing the side of his face into her thigh, "Harkin, I take back what I did to you I never meant for it to happen. I would never ever do that to you again. Please just you and the children come home. I love you. I love you more than anything. _Please_."

He felt suspiciously close to shedding tears but was unable. He felt her move down against him and she was soon squatting at eye level.

He stared into eyes that mirrored his own devastation.

"You need to understand something," she sighed and lifted his chin, unintentionally causing the coarse hairs of his beard to tickle his skin. He could see there was a moisture around her eyes she was struggling to keep in, and when she spoke her voice was tight, "I have faced many misfortunes in my young life but the deaths of my parents, the poverty and violation I was forced to endure, and even the sheer loneliness does not compare to the heartbreak you have left me in. So please—If you love me as you say you do, if you _truly_ love me, you will go now."

She wiped at her forming tears and lifted up, leaving him on the floor. Gods, she was so strong—he doubted there was a woman who could take so much sadness and still refuse to cry. This thought just made his self-loathing grow ten-times more knowing he was at fault for her pain.

That was when a rare bit of liquid managed to escape his eye. It left a wetted streak on his cheek but he wiped it away in anger before Harkin would even notice.

He was angry again. Because not all of it was his fault. If she would have respected him, if she would have dropped the issue of his travels they would have woken up together that morning. But she had to persist. P_ersistent little Harkin_, she had always been that way.-but still, she never deserved what he had done. He'd shattered her trust and he couldn't even know what he could to mend it, all he could do was what she wanted and that was to leave.

He felt numb. He had ruined everything.

"Do you still—love me?"

She only held her hand toward the doorway in reply, not looking him in the eye.

Tuff nodded with a crushing sadness and stood. He took a breath and went and it was the hardest thing he ever had to do but he wanted to prove that he loved her, that he really loved her. He'd do anything for her. He would kill for her—had killed for her—but she would never know.

He passed his sister in the main room; Ruff had a funny look on her face—a crossing of more emotion than he was used to seeing on her. She must have heard everything, and it had affected her.  
"What?" he bit crossly, nearly choking on his own sorrow. He hated for her to see him so damn vulnerable but he might have just lost his wife forever.

"She cried all night."

"Why did you have to tell me that? You don't think I feel bad enough?"

So she _had_ cried but knowing that still didn't make him believe she was any weaker.

"It just goes to show how much she loves you. If she didn't, she wouldn't have cried so much."

Ruffnut's point was annoyingly simple but he considered it. A small light of hope in the blackened day that Harkin still loved him.

"Make sure they're comfortable," he palmed a pouch of silver pieces into his sister's hands. The Ingerman lodge would be full for a time as his wife gathered her thoughts. Ruff nodded. She would have without the bribe but the extra money helped with supporting seven beings under one roof.

Then, a whole other problem hit him.

There was shouting and a crowd forming down the road—in the same vicinity he had killed the wretched pillager the night before.

He knew it was bad form to return to the scene of a crime but something was wrong.

"What happened?"

"Body found."

"We have a killer in the midst," someone whispered and it oddly sent chills through Tuff. He knew he was a killer. He always had been a hunter and he killed. It wasn't an uncommon thing but a killer of fellow humans was a much more serious kind of slay when not done in self-defense or raids.

"Not just any old body—that was Calvin, you know the gentleman who brought grain from a few years back."

The bystanders mumbled thoughtfully as others had gone to fetch Hiccup to decide what to do.

Tuff really didn't give a damn about who the scum was, but he eyed the corpse and still nothing—no guilt nor sadness overcame him yet something did wash over his emotions.

It was relief.

For now there was one less dog about to prey upon those Tuffnut loved.

And relief most of all that _because _he felt that relief, he wasn't completely lost to the killer inside of him.

* * *

**End notes**: I apologize for any sadness you feel, and in advance for any sadness you _will_ feel. I'm updating now roughly every other day to get this story wrapped up by end of January [three more chapters]; I have mostly everything written. Read and review at your own pace, and thank you.


	24. Goodbyes

Snotlout always considered himself a brave man, a strong man—maybe even _invincible_ depending on the day.

He would have protected his family from anything bad. Anyone could agree it was the man's role as father and husband to keep the bad from happening to the family. He would have been the father his children could look to be brave, and for safety. He would be the husband that Brynna could love and rely on. He had even protected her before he even loved her from harm—from attack, from slander, from sadness, from hurt—but he had found the one thing he could not protect her from was nature.

The dreaded winter sickness had struck her.

The same sickness that had taken many Vikings in years past, even Snotlout's own sister as a child. It started with sniffles, but was sure once leading into coughing and a severe fever.

_She slept most of the time, not being able to do more than talk. When she did wake , she asked about their children and he would assure her they were unharmed._

"_What about Curran?"_

"_He made you a song."_

"_I would like to hear it sometime."_

"_You will hear it," Snotlout swore._

"_And Finola?"_

"_She doesn't speak at all."_

"_That's the usual with her."_

"_I'm sure she misses you as well."_

"_What about my dear Brigid?"_

"_Brig wishes you a swift recovery."_

_Brynna had sleepy green eyes, exhausted though she barely moved and even looking a wreck, she managed to smile, "Best you leave too love or you might catch it."_

_But he wasn't going anywhere. It was his duty to take care of her—through sickness and health. He had vowed to._

Some Vikings did not react strongly to the illness, few did not even catch it being either lucky or remarkably immune.

Though lucky enough in winter's past to avoid it—Brynna was not native of the north and the sickness took no mercy in ravaging her to her last breath even when given the best ailments, infusions, and care.

In that moment she departed Midgard, Snotlout did too—rendered a shell of the mighty, boastful man he was known to be. He had failed her, he was hollowed out, he was absolutely devastated, angry, full of sorrow.

He was afraid.

He couldn't ever recall spilling a tear in lieu of feeling sad. He always had a natural defense against showing that kind of emotion but seeing her light gone, they came in droves—dampening his cheeks, catching in his facial hair as he made futile shouts of protest to no one but those in Asgard. He was thankful his children were contained at his father's lodge so not to see him nor their mother like so. If it had been possible for Brynna to see Snotlout in those moments after death she would have been horrified of her husband's actions. He broke things, threw things including vile curses and in the end the room was in complete disarray and nothing was more so than the crumpled man at the center.

The funeral was a cold one, inside and out for the High Commander Jorgenson who stood at the pyre and held little Fin close to try and feel warmth his body had lost since that night. Fin wouldn't talk to anyone, she only scowled—she hadn't cried but perhaps she was too young to fully grasp what had happened. The wind blew her hair around and Snotlout had to pin it back while he spoke words of his beloved wife. His remembrances, his goodbyes.

Brig held Cur's hand close by, and both of them were teary and red-eyed for the loss of a mother.

Brig was especially distraught, always choking on a new batch of tears. Cur was quiet—eyes downcast while producing subtle, soft cries of remorse. 'Lout let them cry, he had been through it before though he hated to see his children like so.

The people who attended had once scorned his wife for being of Celtic heritage but they were solemn in their stares, showing regret. Even Astrid, who cried noiselessly while Chief squeezed her hand to comfort her.

They were sympathetic toward the high commander's loss. It wasn't a unique loss by any means as more than Brynna had been taken by the sickness that season. But now Snotlout had three children to raise and absolutely no idea how he would do it successfully. What was more was that he had to inform his wife's father, a _lord_—who resided in her native land of _Eire_, known commonly as the Southern Islands –and there was worry that because of her death the Viking-Celt alliance wouldn't be as sound. But they had produced children, perhaps his children were enough for his father-in-law, _MacDaddy_ to be agreeable—though he had never met them.

Snotlout shifted Fin in his arms, resting his cheek against the top of her head as Brynna was alit. The bonfire created the warmth they lacked standing in the cold of January but for Snotlout there still was no warmth and didn't seem there was ever going to be again.

Eventually his children returned to his lodge, the snow melted painstakingly slow, and he managed what he could. He didn't know how to bake or sew like Brynna had so had to spend the extra expenses to buy such services from the likes of the elder Master Ingerman and the Window Thorston. Brig had been the biggest help as the season crept by. She tidied up and used her limited knowledge of stitching to mend holes in her father and siblings' garments.

The worst part of it all was the silence. They didn't laugh, and if they spoke it was only on essential matters—nothing for leisure. Fin, at three years of age, still hadn't spoken a word to anyone even a month after. Snotlout was beginning to worry for her.

Cur would not play with his friends, only sit in his room and play fife music of Brynna's Celtic lullaby. Brig hated that and often screamed at him to stop it before bursting into tears. So Cur had found somewhere else to go to play that didn't bother anyone. As a father, Snotlout felt he had no control anymore. Not that his children were running wild but he felt he couldn't talk to them, dreading that one subject would arise that he was not ready to discuss.

Their mother.

"Hiccup, I need help," Snotlout would have never believed those words come out of his mouth if he had been younger. But yet he found himself asking one day in late February. He and Hiccup had gotten closer while away in the continent, he felt he could talk to the man above anyone else. Even, Tuffnut—his best friend, who was withdrawn and sullen and intoxicated most days and was utterly useless. Any disdain Snotlout ever carried was non-existent and his whole support went behind his younger cousin.

Hiccup was at the forge and was bent over the anvil, shaping some metal thing or another. He looked up with concern, "Anything I can do."

"How do I talk to them about _her_?"

Hiccup had to put everything together before answering Snotlout's vague yet obvious question, he knew Hiccup had a lot on his mind, especially since the recent murder in the village. It was disconcerting.

"Brynna?"

He averted his eyes to the floor and gave a small nod.

"Well how did your dad talk to you when your Mother passed?"

"We didn't talk. We both silently agreed that we wouldn't. What did Stoick say when your mom died?"

He knew that Hiccup's mother had been one of the many victims of the winter sickness so could sympathize with such a loss.

A painful memory seemed to cross Hiccup's face in a grimace, "We never talked about it either."

Snotlout let out a snort with disdain, "No one talks about a mother's death once it's happened. It must be for a good reason."

"Well you could bring her up in a happy way. Like a funny story or something she did or said."

Upon hearing that, images of Brynna filled his mind. She was skipping stones, or poking at his face with her hands covered in flour, waking up in the morning with her snuggled at his side, her smile, her shining green eyes and untamed hair...

He had been numb to most thoughts other than knowing he was sad and she was gone but then the realization that none of it would happen again hit him in the gut so suddenly that he physically jerked as if someone had poked him with a hot iron. That was the hurt—to never have that again.

"What's wrong?"

"It's no use, anything happy cancels out because she is dead."

"Snotlout—"

"Thanks for trying, Hiccup," he nodded in remorse and turned to leave.

"Snotlout I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

He stopped his path, adjusted his thick cloak for better warmth, and turned, "What?"

"As soon as the bay thaws you will need to travel to the Southern Islands to inform Lord MacVaren of her passing. Part of diplomatic protocol. I would also urge you to try and find a suitable way to secure our alliance as I'm sure the Lord will not be happy at the news and could withdraw his support."

Snotlout nodded, figuring Hiccup would have sent him anyway on Berk's behalf. Hiccup needed all the support Berk could get , his goal was a unified peace.

"And Snotlout?"

"What?"

"I really am sorry for your loss. Brynna was a good woman."

_More than you'll ever know._

He didn't reply but only gave a terse nod before taking leave.

That night he had crudely fired some butchered pork on a spit. The meat was bland—Brynna had always known what to do to make it taste better.

He was thankful Fin had been weaned enough to know how to gnaw on solid food. Cur and Brig could not successfully hide their faces of malcontent at their evening meal.

"What's wrong?" Snotlout demanded sternly, breaking that ever-present silence.

"Nothing Daddy," Cur swallowed his piece. Snotlout was surprised that his son would lie. He was lying to avoid being chided, was he that afraid of what his father would do? Snotlout was Firm, not mean about it.

"It tastes bad," Brig was not afraid. She was honest.

"No, it just doesn't taste _good_," Snotlout argued.

"That's the same thi—"

"If you don't like it, don't _eat_ it but you're not getting any more dinner tonight."

Brig only frowned with displeasure and the silence overtook them once more.

"It's not how momma made it."

Cur was six years old, he didn't mean to cause the room to suddenly still—he was just stating why it was different. Indeed dinner was not how Brynna had made it because she hadn't. The statement hug in the air.

Snotlout's body tensed as he stared at his son. He must have looked like he was about to shout because Cur recoiled, hunching his shoulders and looked to the table top instead and never said a word more.

Brig ate her meat but made it known she did not enjoy it by her loud open-mouth chews and grimaces. Didn't they know he was doing the best he could?

Fin tugged on his sleeve from where she sat in his lap and held out a small piece he had chopped for her. She meant for him to eat it and he hesitantly opened his mouth, she stretched to reach to put it in but her arm was too short and it ended up slopped to his chin, then fell onto her shoulder. What a messy little daughter he had. He picked it up and returned the gesture and she ate the morsel.

"We need more firewood," Brig noted with the jerk of her head. He looked to the hearth and saw it had dimming embers.

"I will take care of it," he grumbled and lifted Fin up to move away.

He threw on his covering and emerged into the cold of the dark. The temperature was like a deep freeze and so he gathered up as much wood as he could carry from the pile so he wouldn't have to return for more until the next day.

When he returned inside he dropped two logs in the fire and poked at it to catch them aflame.

He had Brig help him clean their supper and then put them to bed. Brig and Fin shared one as Fin had outgrown her cradle. He thought sadly that he would not be having any more children to make use of it. Perhaps he could sell it to one of the mothers-to-be in the village.

Cur was waiting to be tucked into his own bed while he pulled the blankets up to his two daughters' chins.

"Can you tell us a bed time story?" Brig wondered. She sounded as though she was doubtful he would but still tried any how. Perhaps that was how Brynna had gotten them asleep so easily. He was at a loss, he only knew the stories of the great battles of the Gods but those were not appropriate for bed time.

Cur must have been more positive on story prospects because he jumped onto his sisters' bed and waited to be told a tale.

"Well," he hesitated and then sat on the edge of the mattress—grappled for thoughts and one could only make it to his mind, "There once was a beautiful lass who lived in the land of green hills and wet summers—she was a lord's daughter..."

He talked for an hour and downplayed the part of a vicious battle but ended for the night with, "That was when the handsome Viking found her and she was saved from the evil men."

He had their rapt attention, and when he stopped, Brig protested, "That's it? It can't end like that!"

"You need to sleep, I will continue tomorrow night."

"Daddy, will the Lady and the Viking fall in love?" Cur asked as Snotlout hauled him up to take him to his own bed.

He only grinned lightly, "You'll have to wait and find out."

* * *

When the bay thawed completely, Snotlout was already packed and to depart on the soonest ship.

'Why can't we come with you? We've never met him before!" Cur protested, following at his father's heels all the way down the dock.

He had told bits of he and Brynna's story to the children every night—the adventures of _Rock Girl_ and her brave Viking protector, and this trip was not only going to interrupt that but everything between them. He loved them dearly but he was loyal to Hiccup and his Chief needed him to go.

"The seas are dangerous. Best let him visit you when the time comes," Snotlout reasoned.

"But if it is so dangerous why are YOU going?" Brig sassed, he noticed she was more and more like Brynna each day—happy that a part of her lived on through his eldest daughter.

"Nothing will happen to me," Snotlout assured.

"You can't say that for sure!" Cur nearly stomped his foot on the plank.

"Hey," Snotlout swiped the six-year-old up easily, "I'll be back. It'll be a few months so be good and mind your grandfather you hear me?"

He had used his stern voice and Cur wilted just a little, into a face full of disheartenment.

"Yes daddy."

He gave Cur a good big hug goodbye and set him down.

"And ol' Fireworm will surely be around—she can keep you company as well," he reminded them. Hiccup had once warned that as a new mother, Fireworm would take children but her hatchlings must have reached the point they no longer needed playmates since there were no reported kidnappings. Though he always wondered if the young Nightmares would ever present themselves on Berk or if they were already living their own lives in the sky above.

Brig was holding Fin by the hand and Snotlout picked her up, "Goodbye little flower, be good."

Fin studied him with those calculating, intelligent eyes and finally wrapped her arms around him, "Bye bye Dada."

He felt a lump form in his chest, at hearing his youngest speak for the first time in a long while. He kept a hold of her for a few more moments, just to enjoy her in his arms. Finally, he set her down and kneeled in front of Brig. She was almost eight years old and was at eye level with him when he knelt.

"And you behave the Widow Thorston while you are helping her," Snotlout instructed Brig. He had convinced the Widow to take his daughter on as an apprentice seamstress since she had sewing potential and she had learned a bit from Brynna who had been excellent at the activity. "I'm also counting on you to watch out for your brother and sister while I'm away, can you do that for me?"

Her frown lifted after a moment and she nodded before falling into him with an embrace, her arms not making it all the way around his shoulders because they were too broad, "I wish Mom was here."

He had to swallow that growing lump as he pressed her close, "I do too, believe me I do but she's gone and she's not to return."

He pulled away and swiped away the curly auburn locks that had blown into her face. "I will return though, I promise I will Brigid."

He had used her full name, her Celtic name and when he did that it meant things were final. She gave him one last hug and pulled away, tears in her eyes, "You'd better. "

He stood and began to walk down the dock toward the ship he was to leave on but heard her add, "_Tá grá agam duit._"

He had to stop as his heart lifted ever so slightly hearing that phrase, not knowing Brig even knew of it. It was the one thing Brynna always said to let him know their spats were at end. Though he shouldn't have been surprised for he knew Brynna had sprinkled some her native tongue upon the children when they were learning to speak, and he still had to yet learn a word of Celtic. He turned with a soft voice, figuring now was better than never, "What does it mean?"

"I love you."

He cracked a smile of warmth, the first in a long while and returned to making his way toward the ship.

He watched Brig pick up Fin and return on the pathway to the village with Cur behind them, walking backwards as he kept a look on his father. He wished he didn't have to leave them, they were all he had anymore. And how was he able to protect them if he was leaving?

He had already said _goodbye_ so many times, even if sometimes there was a _hello _again. He hoped more than ever this would be a 'hello again' resolution—unlike his goodbye to his wife, to his mother, to his sister...

He decided then—at seeing their forms shrink—that there was nothing in the world that he hated more than saying goodbyes.


	25. Forbidden Fighting

Hiccup had made a rule for his household that no fighting was allowed. The rule didn't exist before their second was born, and even after that by a couple years but as they grew, the boys argued over little things that caused them to feel the need to physically settle the disagreements. It wasn't always like that though; they'd get along but brothers would be brothers so now whoever started a fight would be sent to their room. Physical tussles were avoided for the most part but often the shouting between the Haddock sons grew to near unbearable proportions.

"You're just a little Whelp!"

"AM NOT YOU BROOMSTICK!"

"_You_ have bad freckles!"

"Your hair is funny!"

"_You_ can't fall asleep without a candle lit because you are afraid of the dark."

"Well _you're_ afraid of a girl!"

Astrid looked up sharply to see her eldest's reaction. Svenan's face twisted into pure offense at Icky's claim. He would deny it, this she knew. She also knew the truth and she couldn't blame him—the girl in question, _Frostbite_, could be a little terror and seemed to be charmed with Svenan the Younger even at nearly six-years-old. She followed him when he played outside and often did mean things with the intention to impress him.

"I AM _**NOT**_ AFRAID OF GIRLS!" Svenan bellowed

"Enough!" Astrid shouted causing her sons to back away from their threatening proximity toward each other. If they weren't afraid of girls they were definitely fearful of an angry woman and would learn over time those were the most fearful things to behold.

"He ate my breakfast!" Icky whined.

"He wasn't eating it fast enough," was Svenan's rebuttal, but it was a weak argument and it had happened a few hours ago, so why were they just now arguing about it?

They looked to her to sort their troubles but she was having a difficult enough time concentrating on repairing the holes in their tunics. She wasn't the best seamstress and though Ruffnut always accused her of being a perfect mother and wife, Astrid was far from that title.

She just wished they would take a nap or something and leave her in peace. They had done their assigned chores—both being incredibly fast and eager to get them done, but now were left with nothing to do besides finding entertainment in baiting each other for arguing.

Icky usually went down in the afternoon but it was only mid-morning. Svenan was eight-years-old and hardly napped at all anymore. She would let him run outside with his friends and that was how his energy was dispersed enough for some quiet in the evenings.

"Don't look at me, you must settle this yourselves."

They gave each other a look, then to her-suspicious as though she was tricking them. Icky reminded her, "But Daddy says we're not allowed to fight."

Hiccup was good in his intentions to not have them fight but he had been an only child and didn't know how bothersome it was to be pestered or annoyed by a sibling, and how incredibly tempting it was to antagonize one another. Astrid had often fought with her brother when she was younger.

"You're going to have to today. Defend the honor of your porridge my baby boy."

Icky nodded and punched Svenan in the arm.

"Hey!" Svenan shouted and rubbed it, then shoved his brother to the ground easily.

Icky began to cry.

"Don't cry, teach him a lesson," Astrid instructed, not willing to coddle the boy. She believed that if they were going to argue, they would have to fight. If not between them, someday another. This would prepare them for that first punch thrown.

Icky tearfully lunged at Svenan and bit him.

"OW!" Svenan kicked him away just as a person swatted a bothersome fly.

They began to wrestle around the room. Astrid went back to mending. A Viking could not lose the fight they were born to have in them, this exercise was useful in having them practice it and also from it she would gain what she had wanted.

Through their grunts and their shouts, they managed to punch, push, pull, and pin each other until about late morning when they had exhausted themselves and were sprawled on the floor in tire.

The door opened and in stepped the Chief, who took a look to the pile of his boys in the middle of the room. Toothless pushed through from behind and circled them, licking the offspring encouragingly to motivate them to rouse.

"Hi Daddy!" Icky lifted his head, and everyone could see the start of a bruised eye.

"What happened?" Hiccup seemed concerned and bewildered all at once.

"Svenan hit me!"

"Mom said I could!" Svenan retorted and not without a blameful pointing of a finger. All eyes landed on Astrid.

"They were arguing. I told them they could fight out their differences," she said nonchalantly and ignored the darkening of Hiccup's expression.

"Boys, go to your room," he ordered, his voice had grown cool. It was a rare tone, rare enough that his sons scrambled up knowing to obey when his voice hit that low. They all knew he disliked it when people settled their differences physically.

Toothless ambled outside, seeming bored now that the younglings were sent away. The dragon had grown fond of the boys, sometimes preferring to stay and play with them than accompany Hiccup some days.

Astrid continued to mend the tunics, pushing the fishbone needle through the mat erial and fixing the tears gradually.

"Astrid…" she heard her name. The tone wasn't one of pleasantry. She had let their sons break a firm rule.

"What?"

"You know I don't like to have them fight, so why in the world would you encourage it?"

"They need to learn, Hiccup—"

"NO Astrid, they don't," he brought his hand down to the arm of the chair she was sitting on and leaned in close—insistently, almost threatening if they both didn't know she could hand him his rear faster than he could blink.

She closed her mouth into a pressed frown and raised her brows, not appreciative of his interruption.

"I'm trying every day to avoid unnecessary conflict, I've been making allies and appeasing old enemies and all without shedding blood or bruising an eye. To let them fight is undoing everything I have been working towards. Do you not understand that violence can be avoided?"

"Do you not understand that not everyone wants to avoid it? That some beings would rather kill first and ask questions later. What if one of our sons comes upon that? They would be slain before they knew what to do. What if their demise was due to you suppressing their instincts?"

Hiccup's frown lifted at her subtle accusation.

"I understand more than you know, but some skills should always be taught," she picked up her stitchery and glared at him, "Maybe you're the one who needs to understand."

He backed away, must have seeing she wanted let up from her spot and was seconds from removing him herself.

"I see your point but I do not want them fighting each other—they are brothers, not enemies."

She bit her bottom lip, the stubborn part of her fighting with the logic. "Fine I will not let them fight one another again."

"What were they even fighting over?"

"Porridge, I suppose."

"Gods, that is ridiculous."

"Children are allowed to be ridiculous."

"Not anymore, at least not Svenan."

She turned and considered him, "What do you mean by that?"

"I secured an apprenticeship for him."

This was news to Astrid, she wasn't even aware Hiccup had considered an apprenticeship for their son let alone had made the decision without her.

"And when were planning to tell me this?" She felt a tiny prick of something—it wasn't a good feeling.

"I'm telling you...now," He gave her a bemused look, the kind where he was silently wondering what he had done to make her so displeased. He could be so unassumingly daft for being brilliant half the time.

She gave a frustrated sigh, and rubbed her head deciding not to argue, "Well, what is he to apprentice in? Obviously not smithing or else you or Gobber—Gods forbid in his old age would be the master—and Rune isn't fit to—"

"Svenan has always liked building, I asked one of the shipbuilders to take him on."

Astrid could at least agree on that, thinking of all the times Svenan stacked household items until they fell. She looked to Hiccup, realizing she hadn't felt prickled before he had arrived. "Why are you back so early?"

"What?"

"You are usually forging until sundown."

"I came to tell you about the apprenticeship...I thought you'd want to know."

"Yet you didn't even consider telling me you were going to do it in the first place."

"It's my decision either way."

She bit her tongue from calling him a name or saying something displeasing. True, the future of a child was determined by the family patriarch but Hiccup had always been so good at seeking her opinion in the past. What had changed?

She gave him a punch to the arm instead. He wasn't expecting it as she had halted that juvenile act years ago but she made sure it stung and didn't even follow up with a kiss.

"You have work to do," She stated and turned on him.

She saw him hesitate out of the corner of her eye before silently wilting and taking leave.

The feeling materialized into a recognizable one. A balance of anger and sadness. Where was the overwhelming happiness she had felt from being with him? She heard the door up the stairs crack open and two heads popped into view from above.

"Were you and Daddy fighting 'cause was fighting?" Icky asked earnestly.

"Because we won't do it again!" Svenan promised.

"Never you mind about it. Go out and play—just make sure you don't get underfoot and no more fighting."

They answered in a torrent of promises they'd behave and scampered down the stairs and to the outdoors. She knew they liked climbing the trees and playing 'look out' where they would see ships in the far distance and make up stories about them. It was a good clear day for that game.

She sat once again but didn't pick the tunics up to finish them. She stared at the mural on the wall, trying to recall that wonderful feeling she had when she first saw it. The drawing of her and Hiccup were holding hands—and she knew that was the image their sons would always want. Any time they heard their parents fight, it severed the image thread by thread. The truth was, Astrid wanted that image to last forever too.

She was too frustrated to concentrate on stitching so went to her room and grabbed her axe off the wall to let of some built up steam in the forest.

Her aim had been better before, and she was rather distracted because though she felt this passing fury at her husband for making decisions without her—it hadn't been a _bad_ or unreasonable one, she was just angry she was not included in the thought of it. Svenan was _their_ son, not just Hiccup's even though what he decided was final.

She pulled the axe over her shoulder and looked at the splintered wood of the tree trunk she had been launching it at. It was about as maimed as a ham at a seasons feast.

She made her way back to the lodge and returned her axe to its place, figuring she had wasted enough time already—but she needed it. She couldn't let all her husband's discrepancies build up in her. It would poison her.

A pair of hands fell over her eyes and pressed tightly to her face.

"Augh! What's going on?" she demanded tugging them but they didn't budge. She cursed her lack of perception from being so unfocused.

She heard a calming '_shhh_.'

It was her husband. He was already trying her patience that day and this stunt wasn't helping.

"Come with me," he said, still hushed—a tone of persistence in his voice. She moved based upon his guidance, he led by turning her head in the desired direction. She felt the kiss of summer's sun upon her face and knew he had led them out of the house.

"What is it?" she asked sharply. He always had business to attend to, what was he doing with her when he should be at the forge or advising villagers?

He lifted his hands and she blinked at the change of light from the dark of his hands, finally making out the black mass that was Night Fury before them. He gave a purr of greeting.

"Fly with me, Astrid."

She actually hadn't flown with him in years. If she flew she saddled up her Nadder, Toothless was always meant to carry the Chief.

Her Nadder was lounging on the roof, sun-bathing the last she saw but looking there now, it had flown off. If the Nadder saw her fly on Toothless, she would get perturbed and jealous.

Flying did sound lovely, and the day was nice but they couldn't just fly off together like they could in their youth—that was what they had given up in becoming responsible adults. Besides, she was still displeased with him and was apprehensive to accept his request.

"I can't, the boys—"

He reached around and put a finger to her lips, "It's taken care of."

She pushed it away, "but—" his finger only returned, adamant on keeping her quiet.

"I _said_, it's taken care of—now please, just say you'll come with me," he moved around her and mounted the saddle strapped to Toothless's shoulders, holding his hand out to her.

She pursed her lips but indulged him, proving she was the best wife he could have ever have obtained in a lifetime. She didn't take his hand though, only pushed it away and took a position behind him—maintaining the appearance to barely accept the invitation.

"Come on Bud," Hiccup leaned forward and prompted Toothless and the dragon launched from the ground at his un-earthly speed and into the sky. Astrid couldn't help but to latch onto Hiccup to anchor herself—recalling the first time she ever had to do it when the Night Fury had seemed bent on killing her. Years ago that was, she was surprised she hadn't forgotten those little twists and feelings she had felt in those moments entirely. Then again, how could anyone forget a ride like that?

Toothless leveled off in flight, calming her heart. The sun was even more brilliant as they penetrated the first layer of clouds, beams of light cascaded through the openings of the next cluster above. Her grip loosened on him and she enjoyed the warm air that breezed past her face.

She had to wonder what Hiccup was up to with this flight? He wasn't completely clueless—he knew when she was annoyed—then again she never made it less than obvious. Was this to soften her anger towards him?

They glided silently through the hazy summer air and Astrid had to shield her eyes because at some points the brightness was too much to look at.

"So what did you do with our boys?"

"They're fine, they're in your father's pasture with the sheep."

"They do love those sheep."

Some days, her father would let the boys shepherd the sheep, and they loved trying to get the flock from pasture to barn by shouting and in Svenan's case, whistling. Hiccup had taught Svenan how to blow out whistles but Icky didn't have the knack for it—the poor boy would try but end up spitting at everyone.

"Astrid?"

"What?"

"About the decision I made—I just want you to know that I—I always think about _you_ when I make a choice. You're in my head always."

She listened wordlessly; it was refreshing to have the privilege to see him with all his outer-confidence shed and to be as vulnerable as he was when they were teens, to see the boy within the man that she had fallen for in every unsure syllable spoken—seeking approval. It was sweet what he was trying to say, to explain—though she would have liked to hear him apologize for not including her.

Finally she answered, "And you know all I approve of and not?"

"I'd like to think so…" she could feel him sigh, "…because Gods Astrid—we've been married nearly ten years and if I don't know by now, I'd have to be a terrible husband."

Astrid didn't count the years as they passed; she let time move by without worry—but _nearly _ten years? Had it really been so long since they had started a life together?

Her arms found their way around him. She nestled her face into the space between his shoulder blades, feeling better already knowing she had infected him to constantly be considered in everyday tasks. "You're not a terrible husband, I just wish you would let me know when you're thinking of doing things that affect us and the boys. If you know me, then you know I dislike surprises and I was surprised today by what you said."

There was a moment of silence.

"I'm sorry."

That was all she wanted to hear.

She gave a kiss to his jaw from the angle that she was at behind him. She felt him relax against her, because he had been so tense the whole flight upward. She knew he had a lot on his shoulders—he was stressed more than usual. Snotlout was abroad still to negotiate with the Celts, Calvin's murder was still no less mysterious and there was pressure on Hiccup to make everything safe and right within the village. She felt somewhat guilty at knowing she didn't help his stress by being mad at him, but she couldn't just sit around and hide her emotions when she was upset by him.

But she was still curious to why he had asked her to fly.

"So why didn't you just say this before? Why do we have to be flying for you to tell me?"

"I'm being a very irresponsible Chief right now by whisking you to the clouds," she could hear him say through a grin, "but it's worth it to not have you mad at me."

It was pathetic but that admission melted her heart, but it wasn't an answer. He knew it.

"and I was just thinking…I never properly courted you."

"What?"

"I never _woo_'d you. I mean, it was just so fast that I think I denied you a good romance, so I hope this makes up for it a little if at all."

She rolled her eyes, "Please, one night in the shed was enough '_woo'_-ing for me."

She knew his cheeks had caught a tinge of crimson despite the many years they had been together. She didn't care if he felt embarrassed, she couldn't and _wouldn't_ take any of it back or wish it different. If she would have never felt the hurt of losing him, she couldn't have appreciated him as much.

The rest of the flight was relaxing, calm and just felt wonderful as she and Hiccup took comfort in having a few moments of being together, uninterrupted by duty or children, and even Toothless kept politely silent—while soaring forward and taking them further through the sky.

She rested her chin on Hiccup's shoulder and enjoyed serene the view of the clouds—the amassing puffy columns that were accented gold by the sunlight. She was the first girl ever to touch the clouds, and it was all thanks to the man in front of her as well as the dragon beneath. She gave him a content squeeze of appreciation while reaching down and letting her hand set on Toothless's lower neck. He must have known he was just as appreciated.

The universe around her seemed to let out a sigh as she was filled with all the happiness of which she was wondering the whereabouts of earlier. It was there, had always been there but was easily bullied by her darker emotions into the corners of her mind.

She heard the small clicking shifts of the foot pedal, signaling the tail fin was adjusting, and most likely for a descent. How sad it was to end, but she had to remind herself it was impractical for anything to last forever. She would have to love and be content with what she had at present.

And she was satisfied.

* * *

A/N: Eck, sorry for those previous two depressing chapters, this was a little lighter but as we finish up the story we're getting into the less light-hearted and more dramatic aspects of the lives of the characters, thanks for bearing with me. Up next: FINALE.


	26. Peace's End

Any Villager could say there had never been a more bustling waterfront in the history of Berk, not even when Stoick called his war alliance together twelve years prior in hopes to vanquish the dragon's nest. It was a sense of poetry then that it was the exact anniversary of that day.

For Hiccup it was a day he had lost his leg and gained a whole new world—dragging everyone around him into it as well. He had often wondered if he had done the right thing by not leaving the day he was cast out by his tribe—ridding them of himself, his unorthodox ideas and uselessness forever, but considering the overwhelming positive response to his actions, he could be sure of himself that what he had done was good.

_You live life until the end all based on your choices_, his father's words were clear in his mind though Stoick had been gone for some long years; always reminding him that once he made decisions he couldn't take them back.

Though he convinced himself and most others that that peace was the way to a better world, there was that sudden unsure, edgy, _off_ feeling right in his gut about it—but couldn't reason why. He ignored it, figuring himself to be second-guessing. He had built alliances; not one enemy clan had attempted raiding Berk in over fifteen years, and even if there were lingering clans holding grudges against the clan, they still wouldn't dare. Yes, things were so much better in the realm of peace thanks to Hiccup's efforts.

There was meant to be a great feast and week long celebration in honor of the day that changed the Vikings' world. The day they learned that not all dragons were enemies.

Speaking of dragons and friends, he wondered where Toothless was. The last he saw the Night Fury was when the dragon took off after the Haddock sons as they ran toward the Mead Hall after breakfast. Toothless seemed so taken with the boys that sometimes he would prefer to be their company on the days he thought Hiccup was 'boring.' Hiccup had changed as he grew,but so did the Night Fury—nothing was changed between them though, they would be friends until their end days and fiercely protect one another if in harm's way. Hiccup had seen the docks earlier, most spaces had filled with longships that had laid anchor. He would be looking forward to a rather large amount of guests.

Friends and allies were arriving, some had shown up a few days prior and made home in the communal lodge that had finally been completed under Hiccup's designs. If anything, the vibrant culture around them all was proof that Hiccup had turned an unremarkable little village on a rock into a place of intrigue, respect and of flavor and flair.

The feast had been held in years prior, but every time it came about more and more arrived to take part in the anniversary—to honor Hiccup and what he'd done.

Meatheads, Bog women, and many other a caliber of tribes and people were expected to gather on the isle. The crowd would be good for commerce and for those with spare rooms to rent to the visiting ones who couldn't fit inside the lodge due to the increased number. Some even brought their own tents and camped in the meadows, newly cleared after harvest. There was food to go around, mead and ale to refill the many mugs. It was a merry and fruitful time for all.

Hiccup stood on one of the platform landings adhered to the cliff-face that over looked the docks and bay below. It was a balmy autumn day—a nice long summer had warmed the air into the next season. The water effervesced sunlight in its rippling peaks. It was perfect.

Though the setting was picturesque for such a day, it didn't help that Snotlout was still abroad for Celtic negotiations. A chief without his right hand man was limited in making sure everything was safe for his people. He chose to appoint Tuffnut as a temporary replacement until Snotlout could return.

Thorston needed the work to take his mind off his shattered home life. No one openly talked about it, but everyone knew he wasn't in a good place when he was alone—usually found drinking himself to a stupor most nights. With a somewhat renewed sense of purpose he seemed to take the tasks Hiccup gave him without a complaint.

"How many ships we have in?" Hiccup asked Tuffnut who had just appeared at his side, out of breath from the steep climb from below.

"Full capacity," he answered heavily inhaling.

"Wow, that's never happened before."

Tuffnut nodded, "I asked the newer arrivals to lay anchor on the lower bank—maybe we should build more docks."

"No need, this is the only time we have this many ships in the bay—we're not exactly a trade port. You've done a good job though keeping everything in line," Hiccup encouraged him with a friendly slap on the back. He never had much exposure to Tuffnut, only the headlocks and tricks that him and Snotlout had administered on the russet-haired Viking when they were younger.

Something caught the corner of Hiccup's eye, something on the horizon, a striking spot of color, before he could give his full attention he felt Tuff shrug, "So, Big Day huh?"

"You could say that."

"Will everyone be at the feast?"

"I suppose."

"Harkin too?"

Hiccup could have sworn Tuff's voice caught saying her name. He could have heard hope too.

"I don't know."

They both knew Tuffnut wouldn't go near her, but not because he couldn't stand her—because he couldn't stand himself; it had been nearly eight months since the incident but Hiccup knew then that if there were any chance of Harkin being in the Mead Hall to celebrate that day, Tuffnut would stay away and probably sulk around the docks in his own shame.

Tuffnut only shrugged, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Uhm, sure?"

"Have you ever done something terrible but didn't have any regret about it?"

Hiccup withdrew his hand, his mind going straight to the incident he had heard of involving Tuffnut and Harkin and hoped to the Gods that wasn't what Tuffnut was referring to. But no—it couldn't have been because he had just heard through Tuff's tone, in his words of how much he loved Harkin, with all the regret of his actions subtly woven through.

Hiccup thought for a moment, not recalling, "I don't think so why?"

"I mean there's things you do and regret but if you do something horrible and you don't regret it does it make you a horrible person?"

_What is he talking about?_

"What did you do?"

"Who said I did anything?" Tuffnut glanced at the horizon blankly, "Besides it doesn't matter now."

"Do tell."

"I'd rather not."

"What have you done, Tuffnut?" Hiccup's voice grew cold, knowing he was being given the runaround. Tuffnut was never known to be a deep thinker and Hiccup had been thrown off by the sudden philosophical nature of Tuffnut's questions. Tuffnut wasn't good at pulling it off. He had done something horrible and he was not referring to the incidence with Harkin, which meant it was something that Hiccup didn't know about and needed to as Chief.

"You ain't gonna like it."

Hiccup had a feeling of that already. He knew a day couldn't seem as perfect and not go on without something going wrong.

"Tuffnut," he insisted.

He took in a breath, "I killed."

Hiccup's stomach gave a flop for two reasons, one—Tuffnut had let him have his answer so easily which either meant he was giving up—not caring to hide it anymore—or else he had come to Hiccup for help thus admitting to his deed. Both reasons were highly uncharacteristic for what Hiccup knew of the man; both reasons indicating he was a broken man at that. The bigger flop of Hiccup's insides came from knowing who the victim had ben immediately—he had been investigating the issue for months and got a chill realizing the murderer was right in front of him and that Tuffnut had admitted not feeling regret. It was disturbing.

"You killed Calvin, didn't you? That was you."

"I've killed a lot of guys, but this man—this man I _had_ to, you don't understand…"

How could Tuffnut be so glib about such a heavy deed? Surely he knew there was no excuse for committing bloodshed in the village not in a time of war or self-defense. He was curious though—because he never thought Tuff a horrible person and Tuffnut had always been brazen but never so bent to end a life. Perhaps this was why Tuffnut needed help. But he couldn't do anything to help if Tuff wouldn't talk.

"Please explain, or else your looking to be _Myrkrstaðr_'s newest acquisition."

He saw the subtle fear rise in Tuff's eyes at the mention of that horrible place; it was the threat he needed to force the truth from Tuffnut. Tuff looked away and then back to the Chief with some manner of contempt—then stepped closer and leaned in and uttered a reason that caused Hiccup to prickle.

Hiccup withdrew his ear and studied Tuffnut carefully, seeing the displeasure, the heartbreak, the anger at having to disclose such an unfortunate truth. A reason so vile it even made Hiccup feel regret and a bit of rage to know that it had happened and he was just learning about it. It was clear that the murder wasn't an unjust one. Thinking back—Hiccup remembered the almost overnight disappearance of Calvin the Lecherous and all those disconcerting looks he had given to the young women of the village in those weeks of his stay.

He remembered how withdrawn Harkin seemed to be—figuring it was a moody, teenage phase but it only had happened _after_ Calvin's departure. His stomach stopped flopping and dropped outright, realizing he had failed to protect those of his village—he really had let a wild cat into a bird's nest.

Poor Harkin.

But why did Calvin return? That was the bigger issue to wonder about. Though now it couldn't be answered since the man was gone forever. Hopefully any intent of foul deeds along with him. Hiccup cursed himself for being so taken in the man's rouse as a decent man.

"I'm so sorry, Tuffnut."

"You still gonna throw me in _Myrkrstaðr_?"

Hiccup shook his head, "No, but the next time you even think of committing such an act—come to me first to sort out the issue. What if you would have had the wrong man? You'd be no better."

"I am no better anyway," Tuff glared out to sea and turned to face Hiccup, "Don't tell anyone about it—I don't want her to be shamed."

"I won't," Hiccup promised. He was relieved that Calvin was gone—for who knows how many more girls would suffer under those lecherous hands while he stayed in Berk the second time. Hiccup should have never allowed him back after his abrupt disappearance which he now had an idea to the cause.

Tuff slumped off, "I think there might be more ships coming, better see to them."

The bright color had gotten larger in the distance, and Hiccup was ready to turn an eye on it but he suddenly jumped as he felt something latch into his legs. No, two things, no _three._ He looked down and saw three pairs of eyes staring back at him.

"Mama is this the Hiccup?"

"Mommy this leg is metals!"

"Mom! This guy looks funny!"

Hiccup had no idea how to react to the three small girls attached to him.

"Yes, that's the Hiccup, and yes his leg is made of metal, and yes he has always looked kind of funny," he heard a familiar voice full of laughter and looked up to see none other than Camicazi, Cheiftress of the Bogs. Still short, still a head full of wild hair, and still looking fierce.

"You made it!" he felt his smile return.

"Of course I did, and these three couldn't wait to see you. They have so much curiosity towards the men-folk," she teased and gave him a fond embrace.

"Your daughters, I take it?"

"Indeed," she smiled wryly and gave a clapping order, "Off the Chief girls!"

They scrambled off of him.

They looked to be between his son's ages.

Hiccup hadn't seen Camicazi since her last visit but had learned of her offspring through exchange of correspondence through the Terror Mail. He made a point to stay in contact with her as they were both leaders as well as friends. She had gone campaigning for fun through the East Continent—part of the Roman Empire. She never succeeded in conquering Rome but apparently did succeed in conquering some of it's soldiers—and not in the destructive way one would assume.

Wild women were a strange manner of creature. Human in every sense like the rest of them—Vikings even—but very odd in their ways. Wild women did not take husbands but sought men out to repopulate their tribes—keeping any female children to raise and sending any sons they might have off with the fathers when of age. In fact it was such a common occurrence that most places considered Bog-sons legitimate heirs to their father's estates. It was a near perfect solution for those men who needed to pass their bloodlines but couldn't stomach the thought of a wife. Bad luck for any man to actually fall for one because it was futile to propose to a wild woman; they loved their freedom too much to consider loving any one man.

A black blur passed him, nearly pushing him over and he yelped and caught his balance and saw Toothless sniffing around all of the ladies, questioning.

"Toothless! Don't be rude!" Hiccup grabbed him by the saddle upon his neck and pulled him away, "I'm sorry, he hasn't done this to anyone else, you all must smell nice."

"Or he's looking for _her_," Camicazi pointed to the sky and Hiccup craned his neck and saw a sleek gold shape lazily catching the updrafts in the clouds. Toothless pawed the ground in a whine.

"OH, that's right, Thunderfly."

"_Stormfly_," one of Camicazi's daughter's corrected.

"Yeah, sorry why is he looking for her?" Hiccup was bemused.

Camicazi just smiled, not willing to indulge him.

Toothless whined again nudging Hiccup insistently. He didn't have time to fly, the feast would begin soon and he could be late for his own feast.

Camicazi gave a shrill whistle and soon enough the Mood Dragon spiraled downward, making everyone who was watching a bit dizzy.

Toothless nipped up what seemed to be the youngest daughter by her tunic and set her in front of Stormfly. He seemed to wait expectantly.

"He did _not_ just use my child as an offering," the Chieftress frowned, at once going in and picking her daughter up. Stormfly only seemed amused and bent over gracefully touching her nose to the Night Fury's.

At once he acquired the dopey half-smile he had first mimicked from Hiccup and became still as stone.

"Toothless? Come on, you did this last time. Stop fooling around..."

"Leave him, it will wear off. The bog is full of male dragons who fugue once Stormfly noses them. She has that effect, what can I do?"

He watched as the Mood dragon was no longer gold but a light pinkish color—brushing around the seemingly frozen Night Fury in the manner of a cat at a person's legs.

"What is she doing to him?"

"You're the dragon expert," Camicazi made a sing-song and went forth, beckoning her girls to follow.

"So where's your entourage? Did you leave them at home?"

"They are still docking, my girls were growing tired of being at sea and wanted to come ashore as quickly as possible."

"The oceans big!" one of her daughters interjected.

"There might have been a whaler!" the one Camicazi carried pipped up.

"A whaler?"

"She means whale. How is your little guy?"

"I have two now."

"That's right! _Yucky_?"

"No, Icky."

Camicazi laughed and her daughters did too. Hiccup gave a slight roll of eye at them.

"It's a good thing you finally showed up. Now Thuggory can stop chewing my ear off asking about you."

Camicazi's laugh faded and her eyes widened, "Thuggory? Thuggory's here?"

"Well yes, he was invited..."

"Hmm, can you show my girls toward the Hall. I need to go check on a few things," Camicazi handed over the daughter she was holding into his arms and seemed to hastily backtrack to the docks.

Hiccup stood awkwardly. He never had any daughters. How did a man handle three little girls?

The girl he held grabbed his beard, "You've got hair on your face!"

"Ewww!" the other two squealed.

Hiccup gave a nervous laugh and set her down, "Most guys do—well when they are my age. What's your name?"

The oldest butted in before the youngest could even try, "That's Laeda! I'm Katana, and she is Avvelen!"

"Kata'aa you inverubted me! Mommy says that's rude! You're rude!"

Before he knew it they were pulling each other's hair and he thanked Odin for not giving Astrid daughters.

"Okay up you go!" He lifted little Laeda who was now in tears and holding her hair close to her in a protective manner. Gods, Camicazi had bred three fierce little girls and how could she just leave like that and expect him to handle them? Mini-Wild-Women. _Gods!_

They finally reached the hall. Hiccup was finally at peace and the celebration could now start.

The feast had commenced as had the dancing. It brought an indescribable happiness to Hiccup at seeing the merriment of his people—and knowing he was responsible for it. He saw Ireth Netherland with flowers tied in her long blonde hair as she shyly stood on the ridge of the circle of onlookers before being pulled in by Gobber's nephew. Hiccup suspected Rune carried a fancy for the healer's apprentice.

Ruffnut whose family sat at the same long table as Hiccup was busy chiding Frostbite who had apparently put a tart on her brother's head—though Splint didn't seem to mind, just break off bits and eat them. Fishlegs was looking to help clean the mess but Hiccup saw him sneak a bite too.

He spotted Harkin dancing with Slugwing, intellect and wound expert of the village; it was bittersweet to witness for Tuff's sake because a rare smile spread across her cheeks after the last few months of heartbreak. Her children, the girl known as _Briarprick_ and the son _Bludegeonstick_ were playing with Icky, Svenan, both sets of Snotlout's and Camicazi's daughters in the corner of the room, out of way, while they nibbled on honey cakes and took turns shooting marbles. Snotlout's son he had seen wander off nearer toward the music.

Camicazi was in the dance ring as well, sharing a dance with Thuggory who had to beg her to accept his invitation in the first place. He was bright and she was unamused and it shouldn't have been so humorous to Hiccup as he observed.

Finally he turned to see the perfect being that lay on his arm—already finished with her meal and observing people as he was and he wouldn't have Astrid any other way but content.

It was a place for friends and family and though dragons weren't allowed in the hall—there was barely enough room for one let alone more—he knew his best friend was happily swaying along with the rest of the dragons to the rhapsody wafting from the door cracks, that was, if Toothless was yet free of the wiles of Stormfly.

"You should make a toast," he heard Astrid suggested leaning up to grab her goblet and refill it with the wine Camicazi had brought.

"Oh?"

"They're here for you, all of them. They'd drink your words if words were honey."

"You're exaggerating. Are you intoxicated?"

She gave a raise of her brow which didn't give him a definitive answer. She took a sip of her drink and smiled instead.

Hiccup stood and grabbed his own goblet calling for a silence, "Hey um—everyone!"

"CHIEF SPEECH!" Spitelout bellowed, apparently seeing Hiccup's failings at commanding the attention of the guests. His uncle gave him a wink and he smiled gratefully.

The room heard his call and the music and movement waned.

"I—I wanted to thank all who came. I hope you are enjoying yourselves and..." Hiccup stalled, he had never been a hundred percent comfortable addressing large groups. His charisma was learned through the years of being Chief. But he focused on that happy feeling inside him that he got from seeing so many people living in peace with the dragons.

"Look at us!" a smile blazed across his face, "We used to fight dragons and now they are our some of our dearest friends. We used to raid to survive but have made many advances in trading which in turn has boosted our riches. We don't live in fear of being attacked and it's not just _my_ doing but all of you who have been brave enough to follow. So really...really, really this celebration honors us all and I thank you!" He raised his mead, "To Peace!"

"Skål!" was the unanimous cheer.

Hiccup threw a swing of his mead back to complete the toast. The tall doors to the hall were opened then and Hiccup nearly choked his alcohol back up at seeing what had entered.

"I assume my invitation was lost?" came the seething sarcastic tone of the figure.

"Alvin," the name tore from Hiccup's lips, drenched with every facet of displeasure in the tone.

He felt not only Alvin's gaze, but everyones on him. Everyone was curious to whom made the Chief so pale.

"Yes, I was just checking up on my brother but I see I am interrupting your _party_ so I'll cut to the question. Where is Calvin? He was supposed to return to me by now. Where is he?"

If there were any murmurs they went silent. He could feel Astrid work out the truth as his eye saw her breath catch and her gaze narrow.

He hadn't told a soul that Calvin was Alvin's brother. Most everyone of the adult generation had heard of Alvin's legendary wickedness and they would have run Calvin out if they had known the relation. Hiccup knew now it would have been deserved. Hiccup had often wondered if Alvin would ever return, dreaded it, and composed explanations in his head should this day come. Though all of it was forgotten, sucked out of his mind so sudden it was like he never planned words at all.

"I'm sorry but Calvin is dead," Hiccup finally swallowed and said. Alvin's smug grin dropped with disbelief.

"What? Calvin...dead? But HOW?"

"Murdered."

Alvin's glare darkened, "I demand justice!" he turned and caught his hook into a hanging tapestry, ripping it a long tear before turning and advancing in a fury, "Do you know who has done it?"

There was silence but Hiccup knew it would be futile to lie any more so he took a breath.

"Yes."

His answer got a surprised response from the villagers. As far as they knew the killer hadn't been caught. He could feel his wife's grip on his arm tighten with ire. He had kept information from her. They just didn't know he had just that morning learned the truth.

"I expect you have shown them the kindness they bestowed upon my brother."

Again, a moment passed before Hiccup responded, his thoughts tumbling in his mind about the past, present, and future.

"They are free."

An even greater anger blazed through Alvin's features, though he kept his voice straight and low and with more condescending that ever dripped from his mangy lips, "Surly the _mighty_ leader of Berk wouldn't let a _criminal_ run free among his people."

Hiccup couldn't help but to make a subtle grin despite the very serious atmosphere, Alvin was a greater threat to him than anything, "If you insist that I arrest you that can be arranged."

He shouldn't have made that snarky remark because it only caused Alvin to become angrier.

"Fool, what will you do about my brother's killer?"

"Calvin was no innocent. He had committed certain crimes I won't name out loud and he suffered for it. The murder was not without cause, the killer stays free; they are not a present threat."

"But you can't!"

"I _can_. I am charged with this island and I decide what happens on it, to it, and for it."

"This is an outrage. You insult me and you will pay!"

Hiccup ignored the threat, not seeing how Alvin could do anything damaging with everyone standing there and able to take him out within seconds; he kept company of Camicazi, the greatest sword-fighter, Thuggory of the greatest strength, Fishlegs the Berserker and not to mention his wife who had never been bested with an axe.

"You may leave Alvin, and I ask that you never step foot on this island again."

At least Hiccup was sparing him, which he rightfully shouldn't have considering the past. Alvin had done nothing this time though, just had convinced Hiccup to teach a brother how to Train a dragon. If Alvin was still as treacherous as the old days, Hiccup still couldn't guess what the end game to that scheme was. Perhaps he was becoming senile.

Alvin took a look around and must have realized his disadvantage, then he adjusted his cloak and turned but not without a glare that promised of Hiccup's demise.

Hiccup's muscles relaxed at sensing the end of the confrontation, Astrid leaned in and whispered sharply, "You lied."

Her voice as well as her gaze was insistent and displeased encompassed in disappointment. He sighed, knowing he would have to explain himself but they were at the middle of a celebration, it wasn't the time for it.

"I will have to tell you everything later, it's not pleasant but I only learned the facts today..." Hiccup trailed off because he witnessed something that sent his heart into a sear of dreaded panic.

Alvin had been leaving as he should have but had quickly grabbed one of the children up from the marble game near the entrance, pressing them close with his hooked hand touching dangerously close to their face. But it wasn't just any child.

Wide green eyes full of fear and confusion stared back at the Chief.

"Icky!" Hiccup choked out and Astrid stood immediately grabbing up the nearest axe that adorned the mead hall but he had to restrain her. Alvin quite quickly had the upper-hand now. Both men knew it.

"Ah hah you think I cannot hurt you _Chief_ but what do I have? By the looks of him, your _son_ –the same hair and godsawful freckles you always have had."

"Daddy?" Icky questioned with fear, struggling a little until Alvin yanked him roughly causing the boy to emit a sharp whine.

"Don't you think it fair Hiccup? A life for a life?" Alvin taunted, the hook grazing across Icky's right cheek.

"Only yours," Astrid swore, the promise of death aimed at the treacherous and ripped her arm out of Hiccup's grasp.

"Astrid!"

She only glared, determined to take back her son.

He didn't even have time to feel her anger his mind was only concerned with their son's safety. "Stay back!"

"Not until Alvin's blood is on this axe," in her determination she failed to see every step closer to them put more pressure of a hook into the boy.

"ASTRID!" Hiccup stood, slamming his hand onto the table and it was clear by the inflection he should be obeyed. "Retreat! And _that's_ an order."

She halted and gave him a scowl but obeyed when she saw her actions were really more harm than good. She dropped her weapon, it's metal head clanged to the stone in a sound of heartbreak and stared at the man holding her son and then to Hiccup, halfway between either of them. Then her frown melted into a face of a desperate mother whose young was in danger. She shot a look to the Chief pleading he do something then if she couldn't. Hiccup hated the triumphant sneer spread across Alvin's face.

Hiccup withdrew a sword he wore at his belt. He wore it for official image purposes as leader; he knew how to use it but never found reason to but now.

Now was the time to face Alvin.

"Let him go, your fight is with me," He pointed the sword level with his outstretched arm straight at Alvin's remaining eye, "it's always been with me."

"Are you finally ready to face me like a man?"

Hiccup ignored the jilted insult and stepped out from where he had been, into the open.

Alvin grinned wickedly and pushed Icky away with a hard shove but not without dragging his hook across the small lad's face first.

Hiccup heard a piercing cry and saw his son fall to the ground but had already lunged forward to strike—in a sudden rage that had never before been seen. It felt like the pit of him was hollow, a burning ignited—casting flames that animated him only to fight that vile man.

His sword clashed with metallic sounds against what was the iron of the hook adhered to Calvin.

Astrid went to Icky immediately, scooping him away and out of harm's way between the men with sharp weapons. Hiccup could see his son's face spilling red from the gash. He was only four years old. Alvin was far more treacherous than he had ever known.

The doors to the Hall were flung open once more and an alert Night Fury was ready to pounce on whomever was causing harm. He was obviously over Stormfly for gave a sniff and must have seen the injured young and the man who was his friend in danger. Toothless let out a sharp growl and flattened his ears. Camicazi as well as the other Vikings at the table had risen, ready to aid him as well. Together they could all surely dispatch the man who had haunted the archipelago for more than two decades.

"Man to man!" Alvin reminded him.

"Stand back!" Hiccup demanded of those closing in. Toothless kept advancing.

"You too Toothless!"

The dragon had always been by Hiccup's side in danger. Toothless couldn't comprehend why this situation was different. Hiccup tried to give him an apologetic look but in his wavering attention to make sure it was a fair fight, Alvin came up behind him and hit his iron hook against Hiccup's head. The world was a sudden blur and Hiccup staggered hearing shouts and a deafening roar of outrage.

"No!" Hiccup insisted and met the Night Fury's charge and Toothless was not about to trample Hiccup to liquify Alvin. "He's mine, leave him to me."

He turned around with his sword ready, his vision had cleared but his head was sore naturally from the cheap shot.

"You made my son bleed," Hiccup growled.

"My brother is dead and you spare no sympathy, why should I?"

"He was no better than you."

"And neither are you."

Hiccup let out a bellow and struck again, this time meeting Alvin's shoulder with the blade. Alvin was a leathery viking and could take a few hits as proven by his missing parts and various scars, but it was enough to surprise the man. He had never before had a taste of Hiccup's skill with sword or his wrath.

His anger at Alvin had never been greater, for Alvin could spend the rest of his life threatening death upon Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III but harm Hiccup's family and the Chief would make sure that Alvin would meet his end.

The sword blade was next to Alvin's cheek, and it had forced the man down. In all the years they had been adversaries this was the one time Hiccup was meaning to truly harm the man.

"You shouldn't even be alive," Hiccup stated coldly, pressing the cold blade closer still. A few more inches and no more Alvin. He had thought the man dead many times, rightfully dead but Alvin always returned like an unwanted malicious pest.

"What then? You're going to kill me?" Alvin should not have had such laughter or doubt in his voice in his position. "You? The Chief of _peace_? You're going to kill me in front of all these witnesses. You kill me and there will be whispers of your false pacifism—even if you could. You _can't_—you don't have the stomach, you're a whelp, and you're too soft."

His strength nor his attention to the blade wavered but he had to consider the people—they had just toasted to peace and here Hiccup was ready to end a life in front of them all. This day was celebrating understanding and peace and murdering was so far from what Hiccup had wanted to accomplish. He could make them all safer in one sharp strike though.

Children, even his own were watching, what would they think seeing their first murder, by him no less? Even Astrid had once told him that what made Hiccup different, admirable even was the care held for life. Indeed Alvin brought the worst out in Hiccup. He'd be no better.

He gave a deep frown and leaned over, so very close that Alvin involuntarily leaned away, for once intimidated.

"I am a _Viking_."

Hiccup then pushed Alvin backwards with his good foot and in one clean strike severed a piece of the man's ear from head. That would be a lesson to him not to cross the Chief ever again. Never to touch his children, nor anyone he loved.

Alvin was right, Hiccup couldn't willingly kill, not even the man who had harmed his son. But in his anger, he could do so much more.

Alvin was shouting curses and trying to cover his wound which was spilling. Hiccup couldn't kill but he could make sure Alvin would never return.

"Tie him to his mast and ship him out," Hiccup commanded to those men who had finally saw fit to gather him and for once there was not even a flicker of regret in Hiccup's mind.

Icky was crying so loudly, Astrid used her skirt and sleeves to stop the blood.

"This is your fault, this is all your fault!" She screamed, cradling her son's face and it really all was Hiccup's fault. He should have never let Alvin nor Calvin return, even just for a second. Slugwing and Ireth were already around the boy to help clean the gash. Slugwing was threading a needle, "Hold him down, we have to get it closed or else it will infect."

Hiccup looked away but heard Icky's cries heighten, Astrid's _Shh-shhh-shhh_'s become more insistent. He didn't want to leave but he had to, he had to make sure Alvin was gone for good.

He found himself standing at the place he was that morning, observing the clamor below.

He could have thrown Alvin to _Myrkrstaðr, _but truly just wanted Alvin away, gone from the island never to taint it again._  
_

"Hiccup's a coward! Do you serve a coward!" Alvin's wretched voice rose upward, bouncing off he cliffs in a last attempt to sway opinion to the negative. The damage was already done even if opinion stayed in his favor. Hiccup had failed to protect his family, failed at making the right decision, and had failed at personally ending his long time enemy. There didn't seem a more disappointing day in his life. He saw Alvin's boat pushed off, the sails forced open to let the wind carry him to a watery or frozen grave. He was tied in triple knots secure to the mast and there wasn't an island for days surrounding Berk, and by then Alvin would bleed out from his wound or succumb to nature or maybe the birds would peck him to death. He watched that boat until it's red sails disappeared beyond the horizon.

Toothless sat quietly beside him, Hiccup had barely noticed the dragon stealthily creep up next to him. He gave a disparaging whine at the state of things.

"You've said it bud," Hiccup crumpled against him, sliding down to the prickly grass and burying his face shamefully into the dragon's hide. Not shame for what he had done to Alvin but for what he had let happen to Icky. He ended up collapsing into Toothless who nuzzled him, trying to comfort him. But he buried his face in his hands and willed that tight sadness in him not to uncoil. He was a leader, he was a peacemaker, and only cried about things when nothing more could be done about them. He took in a breath and wrapped his arms around the dragon's muzzle with a squeezing embrace.

"Toothless I screwed up so bad."

The dragon tried to reply with a noise but it was muffled due to Hiccup's clasping. He let go. He was so worried for Icky but was too afraid to go to him, to feel that crushing guilt when looking upon his son's face evermore and and seeing a scar that he could have prevented. No doubt it would scar, a wound so deep would if it didn't kill.

"_What's done is done_," Stoick would have said but he doubted his father would have sat back and let it happen in the first place.

He pulled away from Toothless who was nosing the top of Hiccup's head attempting to comfort him and mussing his hair simultaneously. He wasn't surprised to see a streak of moisture glistening on the dragon scales.

"I have to see to him, Toothless but how can he forgive me? How can Astrid?"

An assuring croon was his answer and started to bump his head into Hiccup's chest, effectively moving him until the Chief stood and knew he had to go back. There was a more somber air in the Hall, still a music played and people feasted but it all felt forced to him.

He saw Astrid sitting and holding Icky tight, and Svenan was gnawing on a left over piece of Turkey leg. Icky was still whimpering into Astrid's shoulder and Hiccup couldn't ignore the drying red splotches in the folds of her garment.

"Is he going to be okay?"

Astrid frowned but didn't look at him, "He will."

Hiccup bent over and examined the stitch-work Slugwing had done; it was horrible to see his son's face like that, a series of dark zags of thread over a bright fresh wound. He sighed.

"It's going to scar," Astrid said. No emotion betrayed, it was just a spoken fact.

"You always liked scars," Hiccup reminded her.

"Not on my four-year-old child," she bit, stood, and mumbled, "I should take him home. We're a mess."

He followed her out, neglecting the celebration; Svenan followed as well. He looked upset that his brother was harmed.

As soon as they left the Hall Astrid set Icky down and she still hadn't looked at her husband. After a moment she finally spoke.

"Don't come home tonight."

Out of all the words that were ever spoken at him, the taunts, the teases, the doubts, the insults, even the time his father denounced him as a son—none had ever hurt quite so much as what Astrid had uttered.

"But—"

She silenced him with a look, finally, though it was a cold blue stare reminiscent of a cloudy winter afternoon. She was furious at him, yet her voice was low and even,"_But nothing_, you told me that I was always in your head when you made decisions but I can clearly see I was not when you decided to lie to me and everyone—to just—" She must have been too frustrated to continue for she whirled back around and hauled Icky up into her arms. Though he was a bit big to be carried, she still managed and continued forward.

"Come Svenan," she snapped and the elder of the two boys followed obediently knowing not to argue when her demeanor became so tense and chilling.

He watched his family walk away, home and without him. He stumbled backward a bit from all that had happened. Alvin was gone, Calvin too so why did he feel no drop of relief nor happiness? Everyone was safe now right?

But it was true, he _had_ lied, he had put everyone in danger because of it; his own son was wounded. The boy would live but still he should have never had to experience such a dreadful event. It was tragic that Hiccup only meant to protect them by not saying the truth. Though now the logic seemed fuzzy and irrelevant.

He felt a push to his backside and let out a yelp, seeing it was Toothless his dark shadow of support. But Toothless was pushing him away.

"You want me to leave too?" Hiccup asked. Hopeless.

Toothless barked out a soft roar and then unfolded a wing, casing it around the Viking. It was as close as a pat on the shoulder Hiccup would get from his dragon. The thin, black-leathery appendage brushed against his arm and neck.

He glanced back to his home, standing down there at the top of the hill below the Mead Hall.

He didn't want to be like Tuffnut, a broken man without his family. An alienated husband, or like his own father, a man unforgiven for years by a son. He _wouldn't _let that happen, _couldn't_.

He began to descend the steps, hoping he could talk to Astrid. When she was angry she never felt like talking, only stewing but he didn't want her to stew on what had happened for too long or else she might end up hating him.

His pace increased speed and almost stumbled forward a few times, but tried going fast as his bad leg would let him go. He opened the door and saw Astrid on the floor, Icky sitting in her lap. She had been singing to him, he thought he had heard the lingering notes of the Nordic song. He had never seen her so affectionate with their sons, apparently the incident had shaken her, and she wasn't to blame.

"Astrid, please let me just talk."

"Leave us," she requested, her voice back to it's displeased low.

He sunk to the floor, to her level, "You know I could never do that."

Icky was staring at him, his eyes wide and damp and Hiccup couldn't bear it. "I'm sorry."

He crawled closer, "I'm sorry I couldn't save you."

He felt Astrid's hand land on his back, probably with the intent to get him away and not traumatize their youngest any further but he grabbed her hand and held it, kissed the back of it, looking to her now with a wild desperation in his eyes, "I'm sorry. I was wrong. I was wrong!"

And his vision of her blurred because of the wetness leaking through his eyes, but he did see her scowl lift to something else. It didn't matter now, he turned frantically back to his son—never wanting their relationship to become sour as he and Stoick's had. Never wanting the boy to look at his reflection and think of Hiccup in contempt.

"Icky, please forgive me, please—I'm sorry I couldn't stop him. If I could go back I would though, I _swear_ I would!"

He ignored the nagging mantra of his late father, urging him that he could blame himself until the Ragnarok but it would be for naught. His father was right but Hiccup didn't care, he wanted Icky to know that if in his power he _would_ bend back time to prevent it.

"Hiccup," Astrid said quietly, but he was intent on obtaining Icky's forgiveness.

"Please?" he leaned in closer into the mirror of himself at that age.

Icky just stared at him as though he had gone mad, probably didn't understand why his father was so distraught—but after a moment he reached out, young fingers tickling the hairs of his beard, "It's okay Daddy, I love you."

Hiccup snatched Icky up at once and hugged him. "And I love you, so so much, son."

"What about me?" Svenan demanded; Hiccup had forgotten Svenan was still there.

"Of course you too!" He sniffed his tears back and made a lopsided smile. He opened his arm to let Svenan in on the hug and the boy crushed himself into Hiccup. A happy croon revealed Toothless at the door, who then immediately pounced to the huddle to be surely included in Hiccup's love. It made Icky and Svenan laugh and their laughter sent his spirits high. He realized Astrid was right behind him and he looked over his shoulder, "And especially you."

He meant it with all he had in him.

She regarded him still with a chilly expression, still not pleased but must have seen he was trying—he had apologized, and admitted he was wrong all greatly sincere. She gave a nod and joined the group in his arms, though he knew her forgiveness would not be so easy to earn as his sons'.

He knew then, that the wish of unlimited peace was impossible. He had tried, oh he _had_ tried but Astrid was right. There were people who weren't willing to make peace, who would sooner slaughter than speak and they couldn't be persuaded. He knew this because there were people like Alvin out there in the dark corners of the islands. There were bandits and pirates and a slough of evil creatures and Hiccup had been the fool to believe otherwise. They would all have to keep fighting to find a suitable medium, no war, no peace but the edge in between—the upper hand, the point at which they could be decent and deflect all the stings and slivers and slices of life but just as well serve them back if needed.

He squeezed them all for a few more moments, all of them piled together on the floor of the room underneath the mural of his family—he was glad they were alive and healthy and his and he would do everything to make sure it would always be that way.

* * *

**A/N:**

Right-O!

So yet another 'Turning-Autumn-esque' finale event that causes Hiccup to reevaluate his methods as a leader. Though it has more of an adult feel than before. Less naïve maybe, a look into regrets. I do hope it had enough heart, because I took long enough writing it and trying to call upon all these emotions. I hope this story as a whole provided you with the feeling you were glancing into windows of the characters' lives and seeing the the humorous, joyful, and melancholy moments.

BIG THANKS to everyone who reviewed and everyone in the fandom, because without fans, it would cease to exist. I do love you all.

**And if you could, or would, leave a line on what your favorite or least favorite chapter was out of this thing for my reference. I always like polls, they help me determine what was the best/worst**

You say you want more? Well... ;) There are plans as always. The HTTYD gravy Train hasn't run dry, in writing nor art. Though I'll need a hiatus.

Fun facts on Camicazi Daughter nameology:  
'Katana' is a Japanese Blade  
'Laeda' is Latin for 'strike' or 'harm'  
Avvelen is a derivative of 'poison' in Italian.

Ireth and Rune © of Yamilink of Deviant Art  
HTTYD © Dreamworks Animation/Ms. Cressida Cowell.


End file.
